


This Unsheltered Place

by westernredcedar



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Breakup, Canon-Typical Mental Health Issues, Coming Out, Ends positive/happy/hopeful, M/M, infidelity (Jack cheating on an OMC with Bitty)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: “So… you want to kiss other people?” Jack asks, before he’s really thought about what the words mean.Bitty looks at him so hard, like his gaze is trying to pierce through him. “I guess… yeah. I do.”Bitty’s admission hangs over the table.“Oh.”Jack feels like he’s floating in midair, in the long stillness before he starts to fall.“Jack?”Suddenly, everything slots into place. Oh god.“You’re leaving me.”Or, what happens when Bitty needs time and doesn’t ask Jack to wait.And Jack doesn’t.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I was writing this piece, I rediscovered one of my all-time favorite albums, Peter Gabriel's "Us." I listened to it non-stop as I was working, and the story title comes from the lyrics. 
> 
> This work was an epic undertaking for me, and I would have made it nowhere without the encouragement and expert beta skills of wrathofthestag, who always kept me going and feeling like I was on the right track just when I needed to hear it. 
> 
> Aquadex/hockeybaker created two wonderful art pieces for this fic [here](https://hockeybaker.tumblr.com/post/167599405077/sooo-here-are-my-drawings-for-this-years-check). Please check them out, they are fabulous! It was so fun to work with her!
> 
> Thank you so much to the mods for the Big Bang who made it simple and easy to participate. 
> 
> I'm so thankful to Ngozi for creating these characters I love so much!!

*****

The text comes in at about two o’clock, just as Jack is finishing up in the locker room, his hair still damp from the shower. 

**Bittle** _Can you come up this afternoon?_

Bits. God, Jack misses him. He hasn’t seen much of Bitty for the past two months; even their Skype conversations have fallen off schedule. The season has been running him ragged, and Bitty’s senior year is just as busy. Busier. Jack’s desperate to go up and get things back on track. He thinks over the rest of his day. No game until tomorrow, at home. He needs to prep with a few more hours of tape, but he can do that anywhere.

“Thirdy, you okay if I go up to Samwell for the afternoon? Need me for anything?” 

From a few stalls down, Thirdy doesn’t even look up as he says, “No problem, Jack.”

“Text if anything comes up.”

“Will do. Tell Eric I said hi.”

**Jack** _I can make that work. Meet at the Haus?_

**Bittle** _There’s this new cafe down on River Road. Viva Espresso I think? Meet me there?_

Jack frowns at his phone for a minute. Later, he realizes he knew something was wrong, right then.

**Jack** _Sure. Is it supposed to be good?_

**Bittle** _I just want to try it._

**Jack** _I’ll be there by 3. And I can stay tonight, if you don’t mind me working for a couple of hours._

**Bittle** _See you at 3_

Jack’s still frowning to himself as he grabs his gear and heads into the bitter cold to his car.

*

Bitty’s already at the steamy little cafe, at a corner table in the back, when Jack arrives. He has his phone out and doesn’t see Jack at first. Jack takes a moment to just look at him, Eric Richard Bittle, and let that warm rush course through him. God. Bitty’s sitting in a little slant of winter sunlight, his hair golden and glowing, his graceful shoulders curving into the long, smooth line of his throat. Jack doesn’t know how anyone can be so beautiful, inside and out, and his heart stutters for a moment at how lucky he is. It’s been far too long.

Jack winds his way through the cafe to his table, unable to stop his own smile. “Hey.”

Bitty looks up from his phone then, and Jack’s heart stops. Bitty’s eyes are guarded, his jaw tensed. No smile, not even a flicker. 

“Hey, Jack.” 

Bitty stands, but doesn’t move towards him. They usually avoid public displays, obviously, but Bitty’s never been shy about hugs.

Jack can’t find his footing. 

“I should...get some coffee, eh?” he says, mostly because he needs a minute to figure out what’s going on. He’s back on his heels, and worried he might topple over.

“I’ll be here.” 

Bitty sits back down and picks up his phone again, and for a moment Jack has the illusion that Bitty is a stranger, just some handsome man in the corner of a cafe. He shakes himself and turns to the counter.

There’s a small line for drinks, so Jack has time to run through a breathing exercise, repeating _no assumptions, no assumptions_ over and over as he pulls in oxygen and tries to settle his panic. 

He gets his coffee and makes his way back to the table in the corner, takes off his coat and hat, and slides in across from Bitty. Bitty’s expression is still closed and distant, so for once, Jack doesn’t attempt to nestle his foot against Bitty’s under the table. Everything feels wrong.

_Breathe, no assumptions._

“What’s up, Bits. You okay? You seem like something’s up.”

“Jack.” And then silence. Bitty licks his lips, swallows hard enough for Jack to see the rise and fall of his throat. Bitty keeps his eyes glued on his mocha, and the silence stretches on. 

Then Bitty’s voice breaks and he says, “Oh lord, this is hard,” and Jack feels the floor fall out from under him. 

“Bits?”

Bitty finally looks up at him with his big eyes, so soft. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you too, Bits.” Jack’s chest is tight, like he’s being slowly crushed. “I'm sorry I haven’t said it as often lately.” 

Bitty shakes his head. “No. It’s been me.”

Jack doesn’t want to ask, but his mouth forms the words anyway. 

“What do you mean?”

Bitty resettles himself, and when he speaks, it sounds like a planned speech. “You know how I’ve been going to Rainbow Bingo and the weekly lunch bunch at the LGBT Center?”

Jack nods. He’d been so proud of Bitty for taking this next step, when they’d spoken about it a few months ago, at the start of the school year. 

“It’s been real… I have a community now, Jack. I mean, hockey is my family, too, of course, but… finally being out, and makin’ all these new friends. I just… I think I’m just starting to figure out who I really am, honey.”

Jack wishes he didn't feel like he was hanging off a precipice, about to fall. Wishes he could just be happy for Bitty. 

“That’s great, Bits.”

“I’m twenty-one, Jack.”

Jack nods, trying to keep up. “I know.”

“Sometimes, I imagine marrying you next year.” 

Jack’s heart stutters. He has fantasized talking about a real commitment, about a lifetime together, so many times in the past year and a half. But Bitty’s tone is all wrong, like he’s explaining something distasteful or unlikely. 

“I imagine that, too, Bits.” Jack feels the panic seeping into his limbs, an agitated tingle. 

“I’ve never been with anyone else, Jack. Never even kissed anyone else.” Bitty’s fingers are fidgeting with his spoon, spinning it over and over, and Jack can’t stop looking at it. “What if we get married, and then one day, I’m forty, and I resent that, resent you, and I fuck everything up between us?”

Jack’s trying hard to follow. “You’re worried about being forty?”

“I’m worried that you are the only person I ever kissed.”

“So… you want to kiss other people?” Jack asks, before he’s really thought about what the words mean.

Bitty looks at him so hard, like his gaze is trying to pierce through him. “I guess… yeah. I do.”

Bitty’s admission hangs over the table. 

“Oh.”

Jack feels like he’s floating in midair, in the long stillness before he starts to fall.

“Jack?”

Suddenly, everything slots into place. Oh god. 

“You’re leaving me.”

Bitty shakes his head and reaches out like he wants to grab onto Jack’s hand, but Jack slides his hands into his lap before he can touch. Bitty swallows again, and tents his own fingers together.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I just think I should be on my own for a while. Just a while.”

Jack runs his words on a loop, calculating, making sure he understands them. He does. 

“That’s saying it’s over, Bits. That you don’t want us to be together. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I need some time, Jack.”

“You’re leaving me.” Jack has to say it again to make it real. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to wait. While I figure all this out.”

Jack would wait. He would. 

“No, I guess it wouldn’t.”

Jack needs to get up and leave before he falls apart. It’s abruptly crystal clear; that’s why Bitty picked this place. Anonymous and free from memories, no room for lingering goodbyes, or desperate kisses, or one-last-time sex. No space for a long drawn out conversation; just rip the bandage off in one go. 

He thought he knew Bitty, but this is ruthless and calculated. Jack’s almost impressed. 

“I’ve gotta go.” Jack pushes back from the table, and grabs for his coat and hat. 

“Jack.”

“Good luck with everything,” he says, just to say something.

Bitty watches him, his eyes huge, his fingers (long and talented and tracing patterns down Jack’s chest, oh fuck) still laced and quiet on the table surface. 

Jack slings his bag over his head and hopes it looks, to everyone else in the cafe, like they’d just had a quick study break. Jack hasn’t even sipped his coffee.

“Jack. Call me later? Let me know you’re alright?”

Jack lets himself really look at Bitty, one last time, at how young he is, at how little he knows about anything. He doesn’t love him any less. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Bitty’s big eyes well up, and Jack has to get out of there. 

“Jack…”

“Bye, Bits.” 

Jack blunders out the door before Bitty can say anything else, and he doesn’t look back. 

*

Jack sits in his car, hand on the ignition. He still feels like he’s falling, the air rushing up past him, the ground far, far away. 

He manages to gasp in a breath, and then another, and another, until he’s breathing again. 

He inserts the key and pulls away, not letting himself think, just heading up the on-ramp towards Boston.

*

Jack’s parked outside the rambling old Cambridge house, once grand, now divided up into apartments and rented to students. Old piles of dirty snow line the street. 

He pulls out his phone, and dials. He’s not entirely sure how he got all the way here.

“Jack, me brah! How’s the cut of that manly jawline this afternoon?”

Jack manages to get his voice to work. “Hey, Shitty. You at home?”

“Got a date with seven volumes of secondary sources. I’m currently pinned under a shit ton of knowledge and can’t move my legs. What’s up?”

“I’m outside.”

There’s several seconds pause, and then Shitty throws open the front door and looks out, phone plastered to his ear, making eye contact with Jack through the car window. He’s only in a t-shirt and boxers, grinning and gesturing wildly at him with one hand.

“What the fuck. Get your ass in here, you idiot.”

Jack pockets his phone and somehow gets himself moving from the car towards Shitty’s front porch, still falling.

“Listen, Zimmermann,” Shitty’s hollering from the doorway, “you can always fucking pop-in on me, bro. You have lifelong, unannounced visitation rights in…”

His voice fades out, and Jack thinks he must be able to see something that tips him off. Jack wonders what gives him away. 

“Holy fuck, Jack. What the hell is wrong?”

Jack’s made it the the porch. He feels lightheaded and shaky, and the ground is still miles away. 

“Bittle broke up with me.”

Shitty wrinkles his nose and says, “What?” Like maybe he misheard.

“He ended it. Just… fuck… Shitty...”

Suddenly, the ground comes up on him all at once, and he feels himself crumpling into the impact. Shitty grabs him as he falls, holding him up and pulling him inside. Jack can hear the sounds he’s making like they are coming from far, far away.

*

Jack’s not sure how long Shitty just holds him in the entryway to the house, but after a while, Shitty gets him up the stairs and into his place and onto his couch and goes to make them something to drink. The couch has a garish flower pattern and Jack finds himself tracing the patterns with his finger, like a meditation.

Shitty hasn’t asked him anything else, which Jack is really grateful for. His breathing has returned to normal, but that’s about the only thing that feels familiar. 

When Shitty gets back, he sets down a steaming cup of apple cider in front of Jack, settles himself right next to him on the couch with his own mug, and blows on the steam. 

“So let’s back this bullshit up, brah. This must be a misunderstanding. Should I call him?” 

Jack closes his eyes (so achy and swollen) and puts his head back against the cushions. 

“No. It’s not a misunderstanding, Shits. He’d arranged it. He had a prepared speech…” Jack’s voice catches, remembering. “He needs some time on his own.”

“What the hell,” Shitty says, shaking his head. He sips his cider. 

Jack lets out a long huff of breath and looks at his watch. “I was at practice three hours ago.” It feels like a lifetime. 

“I just can’t believe it.”

“Got it, Shits. Yes. That’s really fucking unhelpful.” 

Jack hears the ice in his tone. It’s a voice he thought he’d lost years ago.

Shitty sits up and rolls his shoulders like he’s ready to fight someone on Jack’s behalf. Maybe even himself. Jack loves him so much. 

“I’m an asshole, Jack. Shut me the hell up. You tell me. Tell me. What do you need?”

“Can you put on a movie?” Jack says. He can’t talk about Bitty, and he can’t think about anything else. So.

“That I can do without fucking it up even a little bit, brah.”

“Shits,” Jack starts, but then he has to stop so he doesn’t start crying again. 

“Yeah?”

“You are not an asshole.” 

He wants to add, _This is the only place I can stand to be in the entire world right now,_ but the words stick in his throat and remain unsaid. 

*

Jack realizes as the credits roll that he has no idea what movie they just watched; his brain is shut-down so tight that nothing’s going in. 

He has to get back to Providence. He has a game tomorrow. He’s supposed to be lying on Bitty’s bed with a hand on Bitty’s thigh, watching tape of the Bolts while Bits reads and distracts him.

But he’s not. He has to get back to Providence. 

At the door, Shitty grabs him into another long hug. “I won’t say a word to anyone else, but I am fucking telling Lardo, dude. And one or both of us will be checking in on you every damn day. Got it?”

Jack nods.

“And you text back when we contact you, right? I mean, I’ll forgive you if you are literally in the middle of a face off or some shit, but right fucking after. And you should call your mom.”

Jack’s chest is so hollow, the idea of calling his mother and telling her what’s happening pings around in the void, stinging and hard. 

“You text me when you get home tonight. Or call.” Shitty is still holding him, and Jack suddenly needs to get out of there and get home.

“We’re gonna beat these assholes tomorrow, Shits,” he says, instead of goodbye, or thank you, because if he only thinks about hockey, it’s almost possible to feel his limbs again. “It’s gonna be sweet.”

“You text me,” Shitty says again, frowning deep and patting Jack’s shoulder one last time before Jack folds himself into his car.

Shitty is still there at the curb, watching him drive away, until Jack finally has to turn a corner and can't see him any more. 

*

When he gets home, Jack doesn’t open up any video footage, doesn't check his phone, doesn’t even turn on a light. He collapses onto his bed fully dressed and sleeps so hard that he misses his alarm the next morning. 

He wakes up disoriented, off schedule and out of sorts, wanders to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. 

He’s typed most of a text ( _Morning, Bits. Slept real odd. Game day so I’ll be lat..._ ) before he remembers. 

He stands frozen in the middle of his kitchen for seventeen minutes, each one of which he watches tick by on the digital readout of his microwave.

Jack hits delete, laces up his running shoes, and does 5K before he can feel his feet again. 

*

The Falcs slaughter the Bolts. Jack scores twice and has one assist before he’s ejected late in the third on a major. On his way out he punches the boards with enough force that he has to be x-rayed to be sure he hasn’t fractured his hand. 

He throws himself into conditioning the next day, and pushes himself so hard running suicides that he pukes. Marty sends him home.

He goes in for extra hours again the next day. And the next. Shitty and Lardo text constantly, and he sends back one word replies to let them know he’s safe. He knows they are the net holding him up out of an abyss.

He meets with his therapist after a few days, but he doesn’t cry again, even though on the way to the session he thinks he actually might need to.

Somehow, weeks pass. He gets by. 

*

It takes a while to realize that while he’s been numb, his friends are in triage. 

He gets a flurry of texts from Chris Chow one day, out of the blue. Things like _Great game last night! You doing okay, Cap?? Thinking of you!!! We miss you!!!_

Jack hasn’t heard directly from Chowder in months. 

Ransom and Holster come down for a game and take Jack out after. They manage to find conversational topics unrelated to Samwell or Bitty for exactly one beer and forty-five minutes, but at the first lingering pause, Jack makes his excuses and heads out. Ransom hugs him for so long when he stands up to go that Holster actually has to make a joke out of it to keep the mood from taking a dive. Jack is grateful.

Shitty just flat out tells him about it one day, when he’s staying with Jack for a night. “I know it’s nothing to what you’re going through, dude, but it wicked sucks to have two of your best friends split up.”

“Sorry, Shits.”

“Nah, I’m just venting. Brah, you know none of this is on you.”

Jack knows. 

*

Later, Jack wonders why, even during the hellish first days after, he never doubts Bitty’s certainty, never thinks of calling him up and begging him to take him back, or suggesting he try dating other people while they are still together, or any other measure of desperation. He doesn’t bargain or fight. He just accepts it, at face value, and changes his whole life around.

When he talks to Lardo about this thought, weeks in, she asks, “Do you think you might have been worried about some of the same things Bitty was? Deep down?”

Jack can’t answer that, and, of course, Lardo doesn’t push.

*

It’s well over a month after when Jack finally gets up the nerve to call home. 

His mother immediately books a flight down and stays for six weeks. He considers being put out or defensive or protective of his personal space, but honestly, he’s so thankful to have someone there entirely for him, no split loyalties, no awkward conversations, that he can’t even fake annoyance. 

They make dinner together every night that Jack is home, and she quietly and efficiently helps him pack up any lingering remains of Bitty’s presence into boxes that he shoves into the linen closet.

She’s the first one to say, “Eric was not the only person out there for you, Jack. I know it’s hard to see right now, but the world is full of amazing people. Don’t fall for any ridiculous myth that there is only one true love in your life, honey.”

His mother is right, of course. But Jack knows he’s still waiting.

*


	2. Chapter 2

Jack calls Shitty a week before Samwell graduation.

“You going?” he asks, ignoring the stone in his chest.

“Yeah, I am,” Shitty says. Jack really wants him to go, but it still hurts.

“So… did he pass everything okay?” 

Jack can hear Shitty’s intake of air. “Far as I know, brah. You sure you wanna be asking about this?”

It’s been almost four months. The Falcs are still in the hunt for the Eastern Conference title, Jack’s put on eight new pounds of muscle, had the longest scoring streak of his career, and is being talked about as a real contender for the Hart. He has to be able to hear two sentences about his ex-boyfriend without collapsing. He has to.

“Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Well then, shit. I think he barely squeaked by in a couple of ‘em. Nursey called me once, a little worried. But he did it. He’s graduating.”

Yeah, no. Actually, Jack’s heart can’t take it. 

“Good,” he manages.

Shitty clears his throat and says, “You thinking about showing up?” 

“No, no.” Jack has a huge circle around the date on his calendar, and in his own handwriting, _Bits Grad Day!_ , in the center. He’d marked it back in January, when the calendar was brand new, and everything was different. 

“Tell Ollie and Wicks I’m sorry I can’t. Playoffs and all.”

“Yeah, they get it, Jack.”

Jack hates how hard his heart is pounding as he says, “If he asks, tell him I’m doing okay. Say good. I’m good.”

“Got it, brah,” Shitty says, his voice low.

Jack is far too scared to ask Shitty if Bitty ever actually asks anything about him at all.

*

After graduation, Wicks moves to Somerville with his girlfriend, and they get a big house with a shit ton of roommates. Or so Shitty tells Jack over FaceTime one night in June.

Jack’s post-season had arrived in a hurry, also known as a brutal four game sweep in the second round. Jack is shaved and rested and pretty much had enough of the inside of his own head after a week and a half. He calls Shitty in a foul mood.

“I’m dragging your ass to their housewarming, you grumpy bastard,” Shitty concludes, after explaining the Wicks situation in detail. “And you are having a beer with me. A whole fucking beer.”

Jack rolls his eyes, but his heart lightens a bit. Thank god for Shitty.

*

Jack pulls up to the address Shitty had texted him. The late-afternoon air in Boston is muggy and thick, and Jack can see fans blasting in every window of the big house. There are bodies slipping out onto the front porch and into the side yard. It’s a large crowd.

It’s Shitty who opens the front door when Jack knocks.

“Thank fuck. I was waiting for you.”

“Ah, that good of a party, eh?” Jack says.

Shitty doesn’t crack a smile, just grabs Jack by the arm and pulls him into a nook by the entryway. 

“Take a breath, brah. Bitty’s here.”

Jack knew it was inevitable that he would see Bitty again someday; he’d imagined it would be at someone’s wedding, or a Samwell reunion maybe. Not a random house party that he hadn’t even wanted to come to in the first place.

“It’s fine, Shits.”

Shitty peers at him over the top of his sunglasses. “Really?” 

No, it’s not fine at all. In fact, all of the feeling is slowly trickling out of Jack’s body. 

“Really.” 

“We don’t have to stay.”

“I came all the way here. I thought we were having a beer.”

Shitty’s expression remains skeptical, but he just shakes his head and leads Jack out into the living room where the party is in full swing. 

The room is packed, and there’s music on. The windows are wide and a sliding glass door is open to allow a flow of breeze and guests in and out onto the big deck with the barbecue. Jack makes an effort not to scan the room, but just keep his eyes on the square of air immediately in front of him. 

Wicks and Ollie find him first, to a chorus of, “Cap! You made it! Dude, hell of a season!” etc., with assorted fist bumps and bro hugs. Shitty returns to Jack's side and shoves a cold, wet bottle into his hand. Jack doesn’t even look at it, just takes a long pull. 

And sees Bitty.

He’s over by the kitchen, holding a red Solo cup and gesturing broadly to a group of people Jack doesn’t recognize. Maybe other friends of Wicks? He stares for a minute and realizes that one of them is Wicks’ girlfriend. 

Bits’ hair is that bright blonde it gets in the summer, and he’s wearing his Samwell hockey shirt and honestly, horribly, he looks just like himself. Jack hasn’t forgotten a single angle of him.

Jack can’t stare for more than a second without starting to panic, so he turns to face Ollie, takes another swig of his beer, and says, “So, what’s going on with you?” and then tries really hard to actually listen when Ollie starts to speak.

*

Jack makes the rounds through the SMH alums in the room. He knows Bitty has seen him, too. They dance around each other, maintaining a perfect distance, keeping backs turned and conversations going. Jack settles onto the couch with Holster and pretends he doesn’t see it when Bitty hugs Shitty and the two of them talk for awhile out on the deck. Jack feels himself laughing and nodding and trying, but he doesn’t have a clue what he’s said to anyone he's spoken to.

Eventually, Jack finds Shitty again and leans up against the wall next to him, exhausted. “Where’s Lardo anyway?” 

Shitty looks far more shifty than he should about such an innocent question. “Honestly?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“She’s at her apartment. Waiting for us. She’s cooking up a burrito bar.”

“Huh?”

Shitty sighs, and look right in Jack’s eyes. “Brah, I told her I was dragging you to this thing, and she estimated you’d last about one hour before you’d want to leave, so she suggested that she stay home and just fix up a nice dinner so that when she was proven right, we could come over to her place for the evening, just the three of us, and have some burritos.”

Jack has to bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from tearing up. Because honestly. 

“And how long have I lasted so far?”

Shitty looks at his watch. “Forty-two minutes.”

Jack nods slowly to himself and then looks back across the room to where he can see Bitty, still laughing and talking to a circle of people. Before he can avoid it, Bitty’s eyes meet his for a second, and it cuts like glass, and Jack has to look away. 

“Fuck. Guess I better go talk to him, then,” he says. “Before my hour runs out.”

Shitty pats Jack on the shoulder. “If there’s one thing that’s true in this world, it’s that Larissa Duan is a motherfucking genius.” 

Jack nods at that, and throws back the rest of his beer.

*

The thing is, Jack thinks, as he floats across the room, panic set deep in his bones, the thing is that he still loves Bitty as much as ever. He hasn't stopped loving him, even for a moment. It’s as if Bitty hit some sort of pause button on Jack’s soul at that horrible cafe, and Jack’s been stuck in a hellish limbo ever since. His life has been a mass of incongruities. Bitty is his best friend, but he hasn’t spoken to him in months. Jack’s plans for his future are based entirely around a person he doesn’t speak to anymore. He’s furious at Bitty for making this huge mistake, but he still trusts Bitty completely. Et cetera.

It’s too much to hold onto at once.

Maybe they sense the psychic energy Jack's throwing off, or maybe everyone just needs a refill, but the crowd around Bitty thins out as Jack approaches. One guy, gangly, tall, and wearing a fringed tank top, remains at Bitty’s side as he approaches. 

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack says, proud of how steady his voice sounds.

“Jack.” Bitty’s voice is calm, but Jack can see the panic his eyes can’t mask. “Hey. Oh, this is Ronnie.”

The gangly guy reaches out a hand and Jack shakes it. 

“Right. Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, and Bitty very obviously elbows him in the ribs. 

“Ronnie’s one of my roommates. We met last year. You know, at bingo?”

Jack’s brain takes an epic journey throughout this short exchange, from imagining Bitty holding Ronnie’s hand to them sharing a bed to Ronnie sucking Bitty off to the two of them exchanging rings. He really needs to leave.

“So you went to Samwell, too?” Jack asks. It’s much easier to focus on Ronnie than look at Bitty. 

“I sure did, honey. Wellie through and through.” 

“That’s cool.”

“Mmm-hmm, yeah. So. We were just about to head out, right, Eric?” Ronnie says, looking at Bitty hard. 

Bitty stares back at Ronnie, and Jack can see an entire entire unspoken conversation flow between them. 

“No rush, Ronnie. Why don’t you get one more drink.”

“You sure, baby?”

“Yeah. Then we’ll go.”

Ronnie looks back and forth between them for a long second, then nods and trots off towards the kitchen. Jack watches him, his heart in his throat. 

“So, are you two…?”

Bitty’s eyebrows shoot up and he actually laughs. “Me and Ronnie? Oh. Good lord, no. Ronnie exclusively dates straight married men he meets on Grindr who promise they are leaving their wives any day now. Gosh, no. He’s my roommate, Jack. He’s… a good friend.”

Bitty didn’t use to have any friends that Jack didn’t know. He didn’t use to casually mention _Grindr_. The world tilts a little. “Oh.”

It gets real quiet. Even the noise of the room around them seems to mute as Jack adjusts to the fact that he’s just standing here with Bitty, alone.

“Sorry about the playoffs, Jack.” 

Jack can’t look at him. “Did you watch?”

“Of course.”

“Oh.” Jack can’t identify the gelatinous feeling that gives him. “I didn’t know if you would.”

“Well, I sure did. It’s not like I don’t…” Bitty stops and looks past Jack for a minute, biting his lip. “I watched, Jack.”

Jack wishes he still had a beer in his hand, so he could take a sip. He doesn’t know what to do with his limbs.

“So. How’s everything going?” he finally asks.

Bitty’s brows pull together in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“Your… figuring things out.”

Bitty’s cheeks grow pink. “Oh. It’s going.”

So. Jack is not the only person Bitty has kissed anymore. 

“Okay.”

The silence between them is so dense that it feels like they are underwater. Finally, Bitty turns to Jack, gets right in front of him and looks him straight in the eyes and starts talking. 

“Jack, honey, are you okay? I’ve almost called you so many times, like thousands, I can’t even count, even though I don’t even know what I’d want to say to you or what I wish you would say to me…”

Jack holds up his hand to stop the flow of words, suddenly overwhelmingly aware that Shitty and Ronnie and fucking Ollie and Wicks and Holster and half the people they know in the world are pretending not to be watching them right now. 

“C’mon,” Jack says. He grabs Bitty by the elbow and leads him down the hall and in through one of the many doors (appears to be someone’s bedroom). Bitty doesn’t resist. 

Bitty pulls himself free and folds his arms across his chest. “What, Jack?”

“I… just…”

Jack looks at Bitty, now, where it’s quiet, sees things he missed in the stress of the party. He’s just had his hair cut; the sides and back are really short, almost shaved. Jack thinks he’s grown taller, maybe even over an inch; Jack’s angle for looking into his eyes is just a little bit off. His skin is tan and freckled and golden, no longer that alabaster of mid-winter. Time is moving on. Jack sees it so clearly. 

No one else is on pause. Only him.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Bits.”

Bitty visibly tightens the grip he has on his own arms. He swallows. “You have?”

“I think I get why you felt the way you did, and why you need time. And I can see it now. How you’ve changed and your new friends and a bigger life. Not stuck with just… me.”

“Jack, you didn’t have to…”

“I know. I didn’t mean to. I’m just realizing it right now. How much I’ve been waiting.”

“Oh.”

Bitty’s face gets flushed and soft, and it looks like he’s about to say something more. Jack can handle almost anything, but Bitty feeling sorry for him is not one of those things. 

“But I won’t wait for you any more,” he blurts, before Bitty can open his mouth again. “I get it now.”

Jack isn’t sure what the look is on Bitty’s face, so he just keeps talking.

“I love you, Bits. I’ll always love you, I think. And I want the world for you. But I’m done waiting.”

Jack’s words echo around through the quiet room for a moment. 

“I still love you, too, Jack.” Bitty’s voice is so quiet.

“Yeah,” Jack says, his chest tightening, desperate to get out now that he’s said what he needed to say. “Too bad it’s not enough though, eh?” 

Bitty doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head a little. 

“You should get back to your friend,” Jack prompts. If they don’t leave this room, his itchy hands are going to reach out for Bitty, and he can’t do rejection again. Not again.

“Yeah,” Bitty says finally. “I suppose I should.”

As they walk out of the room, Jack’s wrist brushes against Bitty’s arm, just for a moment. He feels a crackle spark of electricity between them and thinks, There it is. That’s what an actual ending feels like.

*

Jack doesn’t look at Bitty again once they are back out in the crowd. He makes a bee-line to Shitty, who is leaning against the wall still, near the door, looking worried.

“You okay, brah?” he asks as Jack strides over. 

Jack checks in with himself. He’s shaky and feels a little nauseous, but a curtain has been lifted. He actually feels better than he has in months.

“I’m good. I could really use a burrito, though.”

“Dude, I’ll text Lards. Motherfucking burritos, comin’ up.”

*

Jack ends up on Lardo’s sofa for the night; it feels better than going home to his empty apartment, knowing that Shitty and Lardo are right there down the hall, just in case.

Sleep isn’t coming though.

In all of the months since Bitty ended things, Jack hasn’t actually allowed himself to dwell on their relationship, hasn’t played over the past or mourned the lost intimacy. He just hasn’t. His therapist calls it “compartmentalizing,” Shitty calls it “robot mode,” but to Jack, it’s “boxing.” He keeps the elements of his life in labeled boxes in his mind, and if he needs to keep one of the boxes firmly shut, he usually can. 

He opens the Bitty box tonight though. Maybe just to say goodbye? He’s not entirely sure why, but the box is wide open. 

He plays it all out for himself, again, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything. The bliss of that first kiss, of finally admitting what he felt. Diving into love head first, the both of them; God, Jack remembers so many details. Like the sweet way Bitty liked to initiate sex with his toes, just a little rut and wriggle of toes against Jack’s thigh or ankle to kick off the mood. Or the way his apartment would smell when Bitty was there, of lemon and browned crust and whatever fruit was in season. Or the way Bitty had charmed his parents, that first dinner, in his bow tie and wingtips, writing recipes onto the back of the receipts Maman had fished out of her purse. Or, fuck, the last time they were together, when they'd stayed up all night, and Jack had gotten drunk off of Bitty’s skin and mouth and body and they’d talked about the kind of house they would like to live in someday while the sun rose and colored everything pink and gold.

Jack closes his eyes and breathes through it all. 

Was it that night? Had that been the tipping point for Bitty where he couldn’t stay and be locked into that future with Jack? What if they had fallen asleep instead of musing about houses and a long life together? Would Bitty still be here, lying against Jack’s side right now?

This is why the box had stayed shut. Jack shakes himself and then gets up from the sofa for a glass of water. 

He’s in love with Eric Bittle, but it’s the past now. 

As he settles back against Lardo’s spare pillow and sips his water, he carefully places each of the memories he’s unearthed back into the box, shuts the lid tightly, and mentally locks it down. 

The rest of his life starts tomorrow.

*


	3. Chapter 3

The law offices of McCann & Culler are on the sixth floor of an older office building in downtown Providence. Jack follows along behind his parents out of the elevator; this is their world more than his. He doesn’t want to be here, but he at least tried to dress the part; even though he's hot, he’s wearing one of his game day suits, minus the tie. His mother had declared him quite handsome as she adjusted his collar on the way out the door. Somehow, she can still make him feel seven years old.

At the front desk, an older woman with a long braid of grey hair, and a younger man, tall, with curly brown hair, are there to greet them. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Zimmermann, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” the woman says politely, the vowels heavy in her patrician New England accent. “Dorothy McCann,” she says as she shakes Jack’s hand. “You must be Jack.”

Jack nods. 

“And this is our newest partner, Geoffrey Ramirez.” Ms. McCann gestures to the dark-haired man behind her, ushering in another round of handshakes. 

“Geoff, please,” he says, as he meets Jack’s eyes and grips his hand in a firm grasp before moving on to Alicia. 

Jack nods again.

“Your lawyers in Montreal sent everything down last week and Geoffrey has prepared all of the paperwork for you. All you need to do is look it over and sign.” Ms. McCann leads them towards a conference room. 

“We just want to be sure everything is taken care of. Just in case anything should happens to us while we are away. So Jack won’t have any trouble,” Bob says, as they take their seats around the table. 

Dorothy McCann doesn’t sit, but she leans against the table with both arms, smiling.

“That’s all any of us want, Mr. Zimmermann,” she says. “Peace of mind.” 

After twenty-three years of retirement, Jack’s father has finally decided that he can be away from home for an entire NHL season. Bob and Alicia Zimmermann are leaving in ten days for a year-long trip around the world. 

Jack has the binder full of their itineraries back at his apartment, and spent most of the last three months of the season listening to them planning details and nodding and smiling at links to vacation home suggestions and sailboat rental ideas. He’s happy for them, but honestly at this point they really just need to get going. 

Dorothy McCann stands up and folds her arms. “I’m going to leave you in Geoffrey’s very capable hands for now.”

Jack hates this. His parents have told him they are updating their wills, moving some assets to the U.S. and adding him in various legal capacities to the Zimmermann Foundation, all in the hopes that it would be an easier transition for him to take over responsibilities in the event of… well, in the event of any number of horrific scenarios that Jack’s creative, anxious brain has been able to devise since they’d explained what they wanted to do. He hates the formal law office, the dark, polished table, the shelves of legal tomes along the wall. 

He’s staring at the shelves when the first packet is passed down to him by the lawyer. Geoff?

“You just need to initial here and here, Jack. And sign by the orange tab.”

Jack stares down at the paperwork and his eye is drawn to the golden shine of this guy’s huge class ring and his long fingers against the white of the paper.

Jack looks up at the lawyer (it is _Geoff_ , his name is right on the documents: Geoffrey Ramirez), trying to pull himself out of his own head. “Thanks.”

“There’s four more to sign, so keep your pen ready.” Geoff gives Jack a little grin (nice smile, seems like a nice guy), leaning over him to grab the packet and exchange it for another one.

“You know, Jack,” Bob says from down the table, not looking up from the paperwork he's reviewing, “once you have this money at your fingertips, you can’t just blow it all on golf clubs, son. This is a serious responsibility.” 

He looks up at Jack and winks. 

“Papa…”

“Bobby…”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just not every day I sign over access to my hard-earned cash to my only child.”

Alicia mutters, “Hardly all _your_ ‘hard-earned’ cash, honey…” as she signs another document, and Bob huffs at her in mock-protest.

“Don’t worry, Papa,” Jack responds, raising an eyebrow. “No one needs that many new golf clubs anyway.”

Jack is pretty sure that Geoffrey Ramirez lets out a little snort that only Jack is close enough to hear.

*

After signing everything, Jack excuses himself to the restroom, mostly just to get out of the stuffy office, while his parents finish up business with the lawyers. He’s lingering in the hall, trying to look interested in the modern art hanging there, when Geoff comes out of the room and sees him. 

“Jack.”

“Hey. Thanks again,” Jack says, giving him a slight wave.

“My pleasure. Your family is great,” Geoff replies. He turns to Jack, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall like he’s planning to stay and chat for a moment.

“Yeah. We do okay.”

“Believe me, we see all sorts in here. You’re lucky. No one’s at their best when handling the details of their estate.”

“I bet.”

Geoff looks at Jack appraisingly for a moment. “So, were you serious? About golf? You play?”

“Yeah. I play. In the off-season mostly.”

“We’re looking for a fourth for a round this weekend. I’m a member at Metacomet. You interested?”

Jack’s heart does what it usually does when something unexpected happens; it starts accelerating in his chest. Jack looks at Geoff again, taking in a few more details: his dark tan skin, deep brown eyes, long legs. 

“Euh, maybe? What day?” 

“Saturday morning. We have a 7:40 tee time.”

Early. Jack likes that. “I’d have to switch around my schedule with one of the trainers. But I don’t think he’d mind. He’s not a big fan of Saturday morning sessions anyway. Can I let you know?”

Geoff nods. “Let me give you my number. Just text me if you can make it.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Jack pulls out his phone and Geoff taps in his contact information. 

“Hope to hear from you,” Geoff says.

“Yeah. Okay.” Jack’s heart really needs to give him a break.

Geoff gives him a long look, then pulls himself up and saunters off down the hall.

Jack tucks his phone away and wonders how he’s going to talk Karl into letting him out of Saturday morning training.

*

After he’s said his farewells to his parents (they’re headed back to Montreal to finish packing and shutting down the house), Jack settles back in at home for an evening to himself. 

He tries watching some TV for a while, but there’s nothing that his brain wants to focus on. He shuts it off and grabs his laptop instead, staring vaguely at it for a while. 

Then, without realizing what he’s doing, he finds himself on Instagram. 

He’s only done this twice before in the year and a half since their relationship ended. Jack tells himself he just wants to know that Bitty’s doing alright, that he’s happy and healthy and making his way in the world. He’ll look, and then he won’t look again. Won’t invade Bitty’s privacy. He just needs to know.

Bitty’s feed is full of pictures of food and friends. The sheer volume of recent group selfies is impressive. Jack recognizes Ronnie in some of them, and there are other guys, other friends, Jack assumes, always with arms laced around each other, piled together in bars or on beaches or in parks. Umbrellas in drinks, and one shot at an amazing waterfall, and then Jack realizes Bitty has just returned from a trip to Mexico. He slows down his scrolling to look a little more closely.

Bitty’s smile pierces right through Jack. He’s got that sort of rosy tan he gets in the summer, deeply freckled, and his hair is almost white, it’s so bleached. Jack wonders how many years it will be until he can see that hair, and not imagine running his fingers through it. 

Shit.

He closes his computer and reaches for his phone.

**Jack** _I’ll meet you at Metacomet, Saturday morning. I can arrive by 7:20._

**Jack** _If you still need a fourth?_

He only has to wait a minute for the reply. 

**Geoff** _Perfect. Looking forward to it._

Jack ignores the ache in his chest, and goes to unearth his golf clubs from the hall closet.

*

“Nice stroke,” Geoff Ramirez says, as Jack’s putt finds the hole on the eighth.

“Thanks.”

After a series of texts to make arrangements, Geoff had ended up stopping by Jack’s apartment early to pick him up and then they’d driven together to Geoff’s club. The conversation in the car had mostly been about golf, except for a moment when Geoff looked over at Jack and said, “I hope it’s not a problem that I don’t know anything about hockey,” and Jack had laughed and said, “No problem. Sometimes I don’t think I know anything about it either.” They’d met their foursome, two of Geoff’s friends named Chris and Tomas (Tomas is a hockey fan, but he’s only mentioned it once), at the clubhouse, and headed out. 

It’s a lovely morning, not too humid yet, just warm and clear. It’s a nice course, the first Jack’s played in Providence, since he usually only plays when he’s home in Montreal with his dad. 

“So you’re a tax attorney?” Jack asks Chris, while Geoff putts. 

“It’s not glamorous, but yep. Tomas is the one with the sexy job.”

“Mmm, yes. Sexy civil rights law,” Tomas says, waggling his eyebrows, from where he’s leaning on his putter and watching Geoff line up his shot.

“So you were all in law school together?” Geoff had explained that to Jack in the car driving over. 

“Yep. At dear ol’ Roger Williams. But Geoff over there is the only one of us who’s made partner so far, the fucker,” Chris replies. 

Jack looks over at Geoff as he hits a beautiful putt that curves gently and drops quietly into the center of the cup. 

“Sweet,” Jack says.

*

As they walk between the thirteenth and fourteenth, Tomas finally asks about the Falcs. 

“It seemed like a development season.”

“That’s what we keep telling ourselves,” Jack says. “Makes missing the playoffs hurt a little less.”

“But seriously, what’s Mashkov like?”

“Tater? He’s great. He’s a good friend, actually. Gets into whatever’s going on. He’d love to be here right now.”

“Shit, he plays golf?”

“Well, he… tries.” 

Jack and Tater had tried golfing once, when they were on the road in Arizona. It had been hysterical, and terrible.

Tomas laughs and shakes his head. 

“I’ll get you tickets to a game next season, and you can meet him, if you want,” Jack offers.

“Holy shit, Ramirez,” Tomas says, eyes wide, slapping Geoff on the back, “you are in charge of rounding out all of our foursomes from now on. Your boy is the best.”

Geoff shakes his head and his eyes meet Jack’s for a moment and linger. But then they are at the tee and the moment passes.

*

They part ways outside the pro shop, and Jack loads his bag into Geoff’s car for the drive home. Geoff hugs his friends and hops into the driver’s seat. Jack waves and settles in at his side.

They spend the first part of the drive rehashing some of the best and worst shots of the day, and it’s easy and comfortable. Jack realizes he just spent an entire morning with three strangers, and he’d been fine. Hardly a twinge of anxiety. 

As the conversation hits a lull, though, Jack’s heart starts to race and his fingers tangle and tug at one of his belt loops. 

Geoff clears his throat in the quiet, and says, “So. Do you like whisky?” 

Jack is so surprised by the change of subject that he needs a moment to remember if he does or not. “Euh… I don’t really drink much.”

“Oh.”

It’s quiet again, but the dense quiet of things not being said. Jack breaks the silence. “Why?”

Geoff’s voice is really casual. “There’s this new whisky bar near my place. Real swank, piano and everything. I thought it might be something you’d be interested in.”

Jack swallows. “Oh. Well, is it just for tasting?”

“Yeah, I usually do a flight and get some food. It’s more for the experience. You don’t go there to get drunk.”

Jack’s heart is not giving him any help; it’s pounding. 

“That sounds okay. I could check that out.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“How’s next week?”

Jack thinks. “I’ll be in Montreal for three days for my parents’ send-off. But I could meet you on Thursday. I’m with my trainer until around 4:30.”

“So 7:00 on Thursday?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, great. That’s great.”

The car gets quiet again, and Jack tries to settle more solidly into his seat, just breathing. After a moment, the mood shifts, and Geoff says, “So, that sixteenth hole is something else, huh?”

“Yeah, gorgeous,” Jack agrees.

*

Jack is still buzzing and floaty when he gets home, because he’s not exactly sure what just happened, but then again, he might be sure. He pulls out his phone and calls up his texts. 

**Jack** _Hey._

It takes a few minutes to hear back.

**Lardo** _That it?_

**Jack** _Yeah._

**Lardo** _Just hey._

**Jack** _Yeah._

**Lardo** _Okay, what’s going on? Should I call you?_

**Jack** _No, it’s nothing._

**Lardo** _I’m calling._

**Jack** _I’m fine. There might be something. But I’ll tell you later. If it’s really a thing._

**Lardo** _Jack Zimmermann._

**Jack** _I’m fine. Maybe I’m good._

**Lardo** _Damn, bro. I’ll let you be all secretive for now, but you better tell me later._

**Jack** _If it’s a thing, I will._

**Lardo** _Does this thing have a name?_

**Jack** _I’ll call you Friday._

**Lardo** _You fucking better._

*

The whisky bar is all dark wood paneling and quiet piano jazz and candlelight and murmured conversations. 

Jack had spent an hour trying to decide if he was dressed appropriately, eventually going with a light blue button down and slacks. He is relieved on arrival to discover that Geoff is in almost exactly the same. 

They secure a corner table, order two flights and a cheese plate, and settle in.

Geoff asks Jack about his trip to Montreal, and Jack has a lot to tell, it turns out, up to and including Bob and Alicia almost missing their first flight to Reykjavik, due to Bob’s inexplicable last minute need to trim his hair. 

Geoff looks good, Jack thinks, in the candlelight. Soft curls and dark eyes and a wide mouth. He notices a little more about him each time they see each other. 

Their drinks arrive, and Jack tries to listen as the waiter explains what each whisky is, but it’s a baffling flow of words that don’t really mean much of anything to him. 

“Which one should I try first?” he whispers, after the waiter is out of earshot. 

“We should go left to right,” Geoff says, reaching for the first small glass. “It’s swirl, sniff, sip, and swallow.”

“Huh?” Jack picks up his own glass.

“Tasting whisky. It’s an art. First, swirl the glass to release the aromas.” 

Jack watches Geoff gently swirl the whisky in his glass, his big ring glinting in the light of the candles. 

“Okay,” Jack says, his voice a little choked. 

“Then you smell. Not too close because they can be strong, but get your nose in to really pick up all of the scents.”

Jack feels ridiculous sticking his nose into his glass, but he does it, and Geoff does as well. The sharp woody tang of the whisky hits his sinuses like a punch. 

“Geez. Strong, eh?” he says, pulling the glass away. 

“Maybe you won’t like this one.” Geoff shrugs and gives a little half smile that Jack finds himself staring at for a moment too long.

“What’s next?” 

“Sip. Just a little. Let it rest in your mouth for a moment and think about the texture. That’s called mouthfeel. And then swallow.”

Jack’s mind takes an unfortunate detour to consider what the boys in the locker room would have to say about texture, mouthfeel, and swallowing, but he manages to shake that away before he has a mouthful of whisky to manage. 

Jack meets Geoff’s eyes and they tilt their glasses back at the same moment. Jack lets a little of the whisky settle into his mouth, holds it there, and then swallows, just as Geoff had instructed.

Geoff swallows as well, sighs with contentment, and puts down his glass. “Well?”

Jack can feel his eyes start to water, and he realizes he’s holding his breath, but he can’t take it anymore, so he wheezes out air that seems to be on fire.

“It’s… awful,” he says, unable to stop himself. 

Geoff stares at him for a moment, his eyes wide, and then breaks out into snorting laughter. “Oh no. Oh god. I’m so sorry, Jack.”

Jack runs his tongue around his mouth, trying to clear the flavor. “It’s like I just drank a piece of tree.”

“Oaky?”

“Is that what that means? Euh…” Jack grabs his water glass and guzzles half of it, then following quickly with a Brie and cracker chaser. 

Geoff is still grinning and rubbing at his eyes with his fingers, shaking his head. “Shit.”

“It’s fine? I mean, I don't drink much anyway. You enjoy yours, and I’ll just dig into this pile of almonds.” 

Jack attacks the cheese plate, but he still can’t get the taste of tree bark out of his mouth. 

“Can I order you a beer or something?” Geoff says, his amusement obvious from behind his hand. 

“Yeah, maybe. And another water?” 

“Sure.”

Jack pauses long enough to realize he’s really busted up the mood of the evening. “Sorry, Geoff. I didn’t mean…”

Geoff shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s not for everyone.”

“I’ll try the other ones. Maybe I just didn’t like that one?”

“If you want to, Jack. But it’s not important.” Geoff pauses for a split second before he adds, “My ex-boyfriend was the one who got me into whisky, anyway. He loved ridiculously smoky scotch.”

Jack’s breath stops for a moment. 

He’d suspected this moment was coming, but now that it’s here, he’s not sure what to do. It’s his chance, to go all in or get out. Make this a night out with a pal, or make it something else. 

He knows he’s been quiet for too long, breathing too hard. Fuck it. Fuck Bitty.

Jack looks Geoff right in the eye and says, “Well, my ex-boyfriend mostly drank Natty Light and Peach Schnapps.”

Geoff stares at Jack for an intense moment, licks his lips, and then lets out a long huff of breath. “Oh god. Together?”

Jack shrugs, but he feels like he’s floating. “Not usually, but who knows?”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

The air in the room rearranges and the molecules in Jack’s body rearrange as well. Because he is all fucking new.

*

Jack had parked down the block, and as the evening winds down, without any conversation, Geoff just starts walking with him towards his car. 

“Where’s your place?” Jack asks. “You said you lived nearby?”

“Just around the corner. About a two minute walk to get there.”

Jack nods, and they fall into a sort of expectant silence. Jack feels a little crackle in the air between them.

Geoff stops suddenly, and Jack does too, turning to face him. 

“Listen, Jack, I don’t want to beat around the bush. I’d like this to be a date, if you want it to be.”

Jack’s brain has known this for an hour now, but it still gives him a moment of blank fuzz before he gets himself together to nod and say, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Geoff gets this little smile that Jack’s seen a number of times now, where one side of his wide mouth quirks up, just for a second, and his eyes get little crinkles. 

They start walking.

“So, can we do this again?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, sure.” And yes, Jack really does want to do this again, he realizes. “You wanna come to my place for dinner? Saturday?”

“Your place?”

“Sure.”

“You cook?” Geoff looks a little skeptical, but also maybe a little impressed.

“Not as well as…” Jack stops himself, and swallows hard. “I can cook. But I might just order in.”

Jack pulls out his keys and leans up against the side of his car. Geoff is right there, arms folded, but just a little further into Jack’s personal space than he has been before. 

“Well, I’ll be there,” he says. “And I won’t bring whisky.”

Jack smiles. “Good.” 

Geoff leans in, and says, right next to Jack’s ear. “I want to kiss you good night, Jack.”

Jack moves away, his heart pounding and his face hot, because god, he wants to kiss Geoff, too.

“I can’t. Not out on the street.”

Geoff looks around them like he’d forgotten they are in public. “Well, shit,” he says.

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

Jack escapes to his car before he does something daring that he might regret.

*

**Lardo** _Good morning. It’s Friday now, dumbass._

**Lardo** _You owe me a phone call._

**Jack** _Can’t talk. I’m too tired from my date last night._

**Lardo** _Fuck._

**Lardo** _I’m waking up Shits._

**Lardo** _When your phone rings three seconds from now, you better pick it up._

*

In the end, Jack doesn’t cook. He orders from his favorite Italian place, but sets the table and takes all of the food out of the take-out boxes to serve on actual platters.

Geoff kisses him as soon as Jack opens the door. Just brings his hand up to Jack’s jaw, leans in, says, “Hi,” and kisses him. Jack doesn’t move away, lets his lips mold against Geoff’s, open and deepen, and for a first kiss, it’s pretty good. 

“Hey,” Jack says, when he can catch his breath.

And that’s how it begins. 

*


	4. Chapter 4

Geoff Ramirez proposes to Jack Zimmermann over a flight of whisky the night after Jack’s parents arrive home from abroad. 

In retrospect, Jack realizes he should have guessed that Geoff was working up to a proposal. They were coming up on their year anniversary. He’d made a big point of introducing Jack to his extended family a few weeks before, including his stern Salvadoran grandma who’d smacked Jack on the ass and fed them homemade pupusas until they could hardly drag themselves home. (“She’s been a Bruins fan for her entire life, Jack, so it’s impressive I even got her to speak to you, much less feed you.”)

Geoff had been keyed up at the welcome home dinner for Bob and Alicia as well, even though he had met them by Skype, and spoken with them several times since. Jack had been surprised by Geoff’s nervous energy; he’s usually a model of calm. 

They walk down to the whisky bar the next night, and Geoff is practically jumping out of his skin. Jack is getting vicariously manic off of his weird energy. 

The whisky flight gets set in front of Jack, and he looks up at Geoff in confusion, ready to tell the waitress she’s made a mistake, when he sees the ring sitting between the small glasses, and Geoff’s little sideways smile. And then it all makes sense.

*

It’s not as simple as that though, and Jack knows it.

The thing is, Geoffrey Ramirez is out. He’s not just a little bit out, he’s all the way out. He’s out to all of his friends. He’s out to his family. He’s out at work. He’s out at the Metacomet Golf Club and at the Newport Yacht Club. He’s on the board of the Rhode Island Gay Law Alliance. He marches in Pride every year, usually at the front, holding a banner. 

The reality of dating Jack, who can’t be out, who can’t hold hands in public or kiss or attend events as Geoff’s date, had been a huge hurdle to overcome in their relationship. 

Actually, it’s a huge hurdle they are still overcoming. 

It had been their first real fight, nine months ago, and it was their last real fight, three weeks ago. 

“I just want to be able to take you to the firm’s family picnic, hold your hand. Let people meet you.”

“You think I don’t want that? Because I do.”

“I feel like I’m compromising who I am, Jack. I’m thirty-five years old, but it’s like I’m a teenager, back in the closet. Where I promised myself I’d never be again.”

“It’s not just up to me. You know that.”

“You see it as this group decision at work. I just see it as a choice you make as a person.”

“That’s not fair.”

Et cetera. They play out this same argument about once a month. They’d even managed to have it twice over FaceTime during the season.

Then, three weeks ago, Jack had added, without really thinking, “I think it would be easier for people to accept if I was getting married or something. Maybe I could do it then.”

One of the top draft prospects this offseason is an out kid from Toronto who blogs about being a gay athlete (reminds Jack of Bitty, honestly). He’s taking a lot of heat, but the league still seems to be willing to consider him. Jack might not even have to be the first.

So Jack knows the ring is not just a marriage proposal. It’s way more than that.

*

They don’t stay long at the bar, because intense looks across the table can only last so long. Geoff pays the bill. On the walk back to his apartment, he takes hold of Jack’s hand, and for the first time, Jack doesn’t pull away. 

Once they make it in the door, Jack presses into Geoff with a long kiss that gets deep and dirty really quick, and Geoff tumbles them into the bedroom and starts stripping himself down. 

One of the things Jack has learned over their year together is that Geoff is really into his own body; he’s at the gym every day, loves to look at himself and have Jack admire him. Early on, he’d asked Jack how he felt about mirrors during sex. Jack hadn’t been sure, but he’s used to it now, even likes it sometimes, being able to see their bodies moving together. 

Geoff’s putting on a show tonight, getting himself naked and then taking his time removing each article of Jack’s clothing, stopping to tilt and angle the mirror over his dresser to catch the full show. 

Eventually he lays himself open across the bed and lets Jack fuck him from behind while he fists himself. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and it should be hot and perfect, but honestly, Jack’s mind is a mess.

Because, shit, Jack is painfully aware he hasn’t actually accepted Geoff’s proposal yet. He’d taken the ring, and slid it onto his finger, but he hasn’t said the word. _Yes._ He’s still not sure what to say.

“Would you want to marry me if I was already out?” Jack asks, after they’ve cleaned up and settled in together under the duvet, and Geoff’s fingers rake through his hair.

Geoff gets the little crease between his brows that means he’s thinking. “Jack Zimmermann, I want to marry you. Period.”

“Even though I’m basically absent for more than half of the year?”

“Yep. I’m a workaholic too, in case you missed that.”

“So,” Jack swallows hard, because he really needs to know, “it’s not just because I’d be willing to come out?”

“Jack, I want to marry you for many reasons. And yes, one of them is that we could come out together. Stop hiding. Is that a problem for you?”

“It’s asking a lot.”

“It is.”

Jack thinks about how far he’s come this year: taking over as Captain after Marty’s retirement, keeping his stats strong during a tough season, working with his therapist to keep moving on from the past, even while starting a new relationship. And Geoff. His relationship with Geoff is solid. They work hard and fuck hard, and have their ups and downs but sort it out. Jack really likes him, admires his drive, finds him really sexy. He’s a great guy.

“I like our life together.”

“I do too, babe.”

Jack runs a finger down Geoff’s cheek and along his jaw, and says, “I’ll marry you.” 

Geoff gets that little half smile, and leans in to kiss Jack, so soft. Jack kisses him back and thinks about love, and how, even now, he’s still not exactly sure what it means.

*

They make a list in the morning, of people they need to tell before they approach the Falcs about a strategy for telling the rest of the world. They call their parents first. Everyone seems genuinely pleased, lots of “Oh my goodness!” and “Felicitations!”, followed by Alicia offering to set up a dinner in a few weeks so the families can meet each other. 

They go to separate rooms to call their lists of friends. Jack leaves Lardo a voicemail, but he gets Shitty on the line.

“Married? What the fuck? My mind is fuckin’ blown, brah. Really?”

“Really.”

“Well congratu-fucking-lations! Holy shit!”

“I know it might seem sudden.”

“Whatever, dude. You know I’m not gonna judge you. If it feels right, brah, it’s right!”

“I know. It’s just…” Jack wants to say more, wants to tell Shitty that he is one of the only people in the world who knows what he went through with Bitty, and that he needs to hear, from him, that he’s doing the smart thing now. That he is right to completely leave that past behind him. But the words get all jumbled in his head. Instead he says, “I wish you knew Geoff better.”

“Yeah, dude, Geoff. No, I like that guy. He’s seems like a class-act. I mean, shit, he’s a full-on fucking adult. He’s gonna _have_ to get to know me now. Fuckin’ lawyer-to-lawyer. I’m hella happy for you, brah.”

It’s true that Jack hasn’t seen much of Shitty and Lardo in the last few months, and that they’ve only met Geoff a couple of times. Between the season and his relationship, he’s hardly felt like there was time to look up.

“Yeah. I want you to.”

“Well, you just made my fucking morning, Jackie.”

“Oh, and we’re gonna come out. Announce the engagement.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Shitty lets out the most ear-shattering squeal that evolves into a long stream of, “You fucking ground-breaking, brave-as-shit, role-model, world-class, motherfucking _beaut_...” And Jack can’t help but smile and laugh and hope this means he’s making the right choice.

*

They wait a few weeks, until after the draft and trade mania has died down, and Geoff has a lull between big clients. 

George helps them with a press release. She’s eager to use basically the same template that PR has used for other players, giving the bare facts about the engagement and leaving it at that. Jack’s a fan of this strategy. In addition, Bob and Alicia plan to submit a traditional announcement to be published in _La Presse_ on the same day. 

Jack informs the team the day before, in the team chat, and gets thoroughly chirped for the following twenty-four hours. Most of them already knew, and Jack hopes anyone who is going to have a hard time will spend the rest of the summer figuring out how to deal with him like a human being once camp begins.

It’s the off-season, so there’s very little regular press going out in general, and Jack is hoping he can avoid having to do anything on-camera until closer to the season, when any initial hubbub about the whole thing will have died down. The evening after the press release goes out, though, one of the local Providence sports reporters is lying in wait outside of Jack’s building and catches him and Geoff unawares. 

They get out of the situation quickly, but the resulting video (thirty seconds of Geoff, arm around Jack, saying how lucky he is, kissing Jack on the cheek, and Jack smiling back at him) crashes the station’s website. It gets reposted to YouTube so many times, Jack stops trying to keep track.

**Shitty** _ROLE MODEL. INSPIRATION._

**Lardo** _Remember rule #1: don’t read the comments, my friend._

*

Four days out from the announcement, and Jack and Geoff finally get a moment that feels like it’s just for themselves again. It’s been all agents and PR and long phone calls, since. But Geoff orders in Chinese, and Jack turns off his phone for a while, and they just sit together and eat on Jack’s sofa.

“You okay?” Geoff asks, which Jack really appreciates. 

“Not sure yet. Ask me again tomorrow?”

Geoff nods and takes a big bite of broccoli. “So, Alain thinks it’s going okay?”

Jack’s agent has been calling non-stop with updates on what he’s reading or hearing. It’s way too much. “Yeah. He says it’s pretty much what we expected. But there is lots of support.”

“That’s good.”

Jack nods and chews for a minute. “Alain said _Sports Illustrated_ wants to do a cover story.”

Geoff stops eating, and his eyes get round. “Jack. What an opportunity. Holy shit, babe.”

Jack’s stomach has been churning since the phone call with Alain, since trying to imagine what he’s possibly going to say when a reporter actually asks him about his personal life and he’s expected to answer. It’s so much. 

“Yeah,” Jack says. 

Geoff leans in and kisses him right below the ear, nuzzles in. “Can I take you out on Saturday? Now that we can?”

Jack swallows down his worries and smiles at Geoff. “Of course. Yeah.”

They finish dinner and settle into bed together, and Jack holds on to how much he likes the feel of Geoff’s arm across his chest and his hip pressed solidly against him. Holds on.

*

The buzz of his phone, vibrating against the nightstand, is just enough to jolt Jack awake. It’s dark, and a quick look at the clock tells him it’s after two in the morning. 

Shit. He grabs his phone before the sound can wake up Geoff as well. 

“Yes?” he whispers, sitting up and cupping his hand around the phone to be as quiet as possible. Geoff has to work in the morning. 

There’s no response for a moment, just the night time city stillness and the sound of a siren, far, far in the distance.

Then.

“Jack?” 

The voice is so quiet, Jack almost misses it. But he doesn’t. He knows who it is from that one faltering syllable. 

Oh god.

“Don’t hang up,” Jack whispers, slipping out of bed. “Let me get where I can talk.”

He looks back at Geoff, but he’s sound asleep and unmoving. Jack tiptoes out of the room, his heart rocketing.

*

Months ago, in the depths of the season, Jack had come out of an intense workout to his phone overflowing with texts. He was toweling off when he opened the first one, assuming it was Geoff trying to sort out dinner or something. 

It wasn’t Geoff.

**Bittle** _Sorry to text you out of nowhere, but I have some news._

**Bittle** _And I keep thinking I wanna share it with you. So fuck it. I am._

**Bittle** _I got into NYU film school! So I’ll be moving to New York City in the fall, good lord._

**Bittle** _They loved the vlog and apparently I have ‘voice’ whatever that means._

**Bittle** _You don’t need to respond._

**Bittle** _It just didn't feel real until I told you about it. For some reason._

**Bittle** _Sorry._

Jack had sat with this little thread of texts, this slender, fragile thread still connecting him to Bitty, and thought for a long time.

**Jack** _That’s great, Bits. You’ll be great._

**Jack** _You don’t ever need to apologize for texting me._

And an hour later, he’d received a reply.

**Bittle** _Thanks Jack_

And that had been that. 

*

Now, Bitty’s voice is strained, like fingers are on his throat, his breaths ragged and fast. But it’s Bitty’s voice. Bitty, calling him in the middle of the night. 

“Bits?”

The phone shakes in Jack’s hand. The living room is dark.

“Jack, I know it’s late.”

“It’s 2:30 in the morning, Bits.”

“Sorry, oh lord. I was… I lost track of time. I just needed to call. To say…” It’s a long pause, and Jack’s pulse races through it. “...congratulations. You’re getting… married. I saw.”

“Oh.” Jack thought he’d planned for everything, but he forgot to imagine Bitty. “Thanks.”

The line gets really quiet and Jack almost checks to see if he’s lost the signal.

“Except I didn’t call to say that, Jack.”

Jack’s entire body stills, and the world around him dims to nothing. All he can hear is the treble in Bitty’s voice, that certain pitch that means he’s near tears. 

“I didn’t mean for this…” 

Bitty is obviously crying now, and Jack has to close his eyes. 

“I guess I always imagined, somehow… I just want things to be...”

This call has to end, because Jack's brain is turning Bitty’s broken sentences into thoughts he should not even be close to thinking. 

“Bits, we should talk tomorrow. When it’s not the middle of the night. Okay?”

He can hear Bitty sniff and try to catch his breath. 

“Yeah. Oh lord. Fuck. I’m so sorry. What kind of boy did my mama raise, to phone like this?”

It takes all of the breath in Jack’s body to just say, “I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Only if you want, Jack.”

The call disconnects. 

Jack sits in the dark, the phone hot and smooth in his hand. It is a long time before he thinks he might be able to get back to sleep.

*

When Jack wakes up the next morning, Geoff is at the big mirror, tying his tie and smiling at Jack in the reflection. 

“You slept in, babe. Tired?”

Jack feels almost hungover, honestly. “I guess.”

“This is all gonna be so worth it, Jack. I know it’s rough right now.”

Jack presses his face into his pillow and nods. He’s pretty sure Bitty called him in the middle of the night, crying. But that might have been a dream.

Geoff is bustling around grabbing his wallet and keys. “I have a late night tonight, remember, with that hearing tomorrow? Call me if you need anything.”

Jack nods again, and Geoff trots over to the bed and lands a kiss on Jack’s shoulder blade, and then he’s gone. 

*

Jack gets himself up, takes his meds, and heads out for a long run, trying to sweat away the creeping sense of wrongness that has enveloped him over the last couple of days. He’s not on any kind of schedule today, just his own plan to clean up his apartment, maybe hit the weight room in the afternoon. 

He hasn’t checked his phone yet, to see if the call from Bitty was actually real.

He runs all the way to the river, then finds a quiet bench where he can stretch and settle his thoughts long enough to actually look. He pulls out his phone.

He has five texts, and three missed calls.

The missed calls are all Alain, but before them in his phone records is another call, 2:26 a.m., Bittle. Goosebumps break out all over the surface of Jack’s skin. 

His texts only confirm it. 

**Alain** _positive mention, cute picture in Entertainment Weekly_

**Maman** _How are you two doing? Call if you need anything, honey._

**Bittle** _Sorry_

**Bittle** _I know you said not to apologize. But I am sorry._

**Shitty** _Do you think the soulless pricks at my internship will frown upon my badass Cesar Chavez tie?_

Jack’s pulse is racing. He stares out at the river for a while. There’s a lone rower just off the shore, sculling through the water. Jack counts the rower’s strokes until they are too far away to be seen. Then he returns to his phone, and starts easy.

**Jack** _Is there actually a picture of Cesar Chavez on the tie?_

Shitty replies instantly.

**Shitty** _Nah, dude. It’s just a wicked cool tie covered in grapes._

**Jack** _Sounds tacky, but I think you are good, message-wise. Subtle._

**Shitty** _Wait, why the fuck am I asking you political fashion advice?_

**Jack** _Because Lardo’s at her grandparents?_

**Shitty** _Right. Love you, bro. Call me later._

**Jack** _Okay._

Jack is tempted for a moment to just go ahead and tell Shitty about Bitty calling him, get his advice on what to do next, but something stops him. Like maybe it’s better if no one else knows? Which is an odd thought.

He sends quick responses to Alain and his mother, and then there’s nothing else to do. He pulls up Bitty’s contact information and calls. It rings five times and Jack’s just about the end the call. Then.

“Jack?”

Jack’s chest gets tight just hearing his voice. “Bitty.”

It’s quiet on the other end of the phone for a little too long, and then Bitty says, “You did not need to call me back, Jack. Lord, I’m so embarrassed. Honestly.”

Jack actually lets out a little huff of a laugh, because he’s talking to Bitty, because Bitty called him in the middle of the night. It’s really him. 

“It’s okay, Bits. It’s nice to hear from you.”

“Oh. Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang on a sec, okay?” Bitty says suddenly, and in the background, Jack can hear noise and other voices for a moment. Jack grips onto his phone and tries to breathe, staring out at the river.

Bitty’s voice startles him back. “Sorry. I’m at work.”

“Oh, I can call back.”

“Nah, I just stepped out for a minute. No one minds.”

Jack clears his throat. “Euh… okay.”

The conversation goes silent again, and Jack’s brain is spinning, trying desperately to remember how easy it should be to talk to Bitty. Then a thought starts brewing in the back of his mind.

“You still in Boston?” he asks, even though his stomach hurts at how irrational of an idea this is.

“Yessir, I am,” Bitty says. 

“Because I was thinking,” Jack starts, even though he hasn’t actually thought this through at all, “I’m coming up to Boston today anyway, so I thought maybe while I was there we could… meet up.” 

The lie rolls off Jack’s tongue so quickly he’s shocked at himself. What the hell is he doing?

It’s quiet again, but this quiet is different, thick with unspoken questions. Eventually, Bitty says, “Sure. We could do that. I have to work until one, but after that. If it fits with your plans?”

The tension in Jack’s chest loosens a little. “Yeah, that works.”

“There’s a park near my place, with a pond. We could go for a walk or something. Look at the ducks.” Then Bitty’s voice shifts, and he adds, “Or... _geese_ ,” and Jack can almost hear his little smile. For the first time, it really sounds like him.

Jack smiles, too. “Great. Yeah. I do love geese.”

“Somehow, I believe I knew that about you, Jack.” 

The familiar chirpy tone is almost harder for Jack to hear than Bitty’s tears had been in the middle of the night.

Bitty relays the details about the park, and they agree to meet up at one-thirty by the play structure. 

“I should get back to work. See you, Jack,” Bitty says, his voice tight.

“Yeah, Bits. See you.”

After ending the call, Jack stares out at the river again for a few minutes, his mind a buzz of overwhelmed static. Then his gaze catches on the glint of the gold band on his finger. He startles up to his feet, pockets his phone, and starts his run back towards home.

*

**Geoff** _Looks like I’m here until 10 pm at the earliest. Miss you, babe. Tell me if anything’s going on with the press that I need to know._

**Jack** _Nothing much today. Don’t worry about me._

**Geoff** _Plan to come to your place after, if I’m still awake._

**Jack** _Okay._

*

Jack parks right across the street from the play area at the park.

He feels a little nauseous as he gets out of the car and locks it. Bitty could already be here somewhere. Bitty. He hasn’t seen him in person in well over two years. 

Jack’s working hard to keep the lid on any thinking about what the hell he’s doing here, why he didn’t tell Shitty or Geoff or anyone else that he was driving to Boston, or why his heart is hammering in his chest.

It’s a hot afternoon, but not as miserable as it could be for this point in summer; less humid, more just warm and bright. There’s a smattering of parents and kids at the playground. Jack holds his phone in his hand and tries to look casual, like he belongs at a play area in the middle of a weekday afternoon. 

“Jack!”

Bitty is standing by a bench set a ways from the playground under a big tree. He’s far away still, but Jack can see at a distance that he’s continued to change; he’s broader, his face a little more angular, with a slightly shaggier haircut than he’s seen him with before. He’s waving and shifting his sunglasses up onto his head. As Jack walks closer, he feels his face warm. 

“Bitty.”

“Lord, Jack. Almost no one calls me that anymore.”

“Sorry, should I call you something else?”

“No. I like it.”

“Oh.” Jack stops in front of Bitty. It’s the moment where they should hug, or not, and he hadn’t really anticipated it being a choice. 

Thankfully, Bitty just takes a seat at one end of the bench, so Jack drops down onto the other. 

“So what do people call you now?” Jack asks. Bitty’s cheeks are pink, and he has on that big smile, what Jack used to think of as his _mask_ , the smile Jack knows he uses to hide all manner of feelings from the world. 

“Oh, Eric, mostly. Nothin’ revolutionary.” 

They fall silent. There’s actually too much to say. Jack has no idea how to start.

“I’m sorry again,” Bitty says, finally.

“No, no. Thank you for the call.”

Bitty looks at him, brows drawn. “You cannot seriously be thanking me for calling you in the middle of the night, Jack Zimmermann.”

Jack shrugs. He is thankful. “It was fine. I didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I should have called you. Before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Jack actually hadn’t given any thought to the impact his coming out would have on his former partners. “I suppose there’s a few other people I should call, eh?”

Bitty gives him a little half smile and nods. “Yeah, Jack. Probably.”

“Sorry.”

“I know.”

It’s quiet again, but a comfortable, more familiar quiet. Jack settles in on the bench.

“So. How’d you meet him? Geoff, I mean.”

Jack is really not sure that he wants to talk to Bitty about Geoff. But then, if they are going to be friends again, he has to. He swallows hard. “He’s one of my parents lawyers.”

Bitty frowns. “Isn’t that some sort of… conflict of interest?”

“He’s not my lawyer. But we’ve talked about it. He calls me an ‘ethical grey area.’”

Bitty snorts, and under his breath he mutters, “Ain’t that the truth.”

Jack looks at Bitty sideways, unable to read what that comment is supposed to mean. Bitty’s just staring off towards the playground and doesn't notice him.

The silence gets thick again. Jack catches himself staring at the line of Bitty’s jaw, at a place where he’s missed a few blonde hairs when he’d shaved, a patch of skin Jack knows he’s kissed many time. He realizes he’s not really breathing. He inhales hard, and opens his mouth to say something, anything. But Bitty beats him to it.

“Jack… when I broke up with you, I never intended for it to be permanent.”

It's like getting kicked in the chest. There it is. Exactly what Jack had needed to hear, years after he’d needed to hear it. His body sways and shudders into this new reality. Bitty goes on.

“I just loved you so much and I was so fucking scared, Jack. So scared that it was all too fast. Then, when I saw you at that party at Wicks and you said you were done with waiting for me, I thought maybe we just needed a bit longer. I was still going out every night, livin’ with all the roomies. It was fine. But _I_ started waiting then. For you. I never doubted we’d find each other again.”

Bitty sighs and looks over at Jack from his end of the bench, and his big eyes are full of tears.

“Lord, Jack, I never wanted anything else.”

Bitty’s crying then, just a steady stream rolling down his cheeks, and it takes every muscle in Jack’s body to hold himself back from pulling Bitty close and whispering that that is all he ever wanted either. 

Instead, Jack says, “Bits, if we are going to talk about this, we should go somewhere else. There’s a lot of people with phones and cameras around here. And right now…”

“Oh shit, Jack. Yeah. I forget.” Bitty wipes at his tears and sits up. “Do I look a mess?”

Jack looks at Bitty. He’s so perfectly beautiful that Jack can hardly breathe. “No, you’re fine. But we should walk or something.”

“My apartment is about ten minutes away. Unless that would be… odd, or somethin’?”

“Your place is fine, Bits.”

Jack feels them both leaving a gaping space between them as they walk through the thick summer air of Boston.

*

Bitty’s apartment is a tiny one bedroom on the lower floor of an old house. It’s really warm, but he has fans going and the moving air helps.

“Can I get you something to drink? Or there’s berry cobbler?”

The walk seems to have reset Bitty; he’s no longer teary. The mask is right back up. 

Jack is one hundred percent sure he should not eat any of Bitty’s cooking.

“Water?”

“Sure thing.” 

Bitty disappears into the kitchen.

“So you don’t live with all of those roommates anymore?” Jack says, trying desperately to distract himself from the terrible, wonderful things Bitty just said to him in the park. 

He wanders around the cozy room and looks at the items Bitty has on display: an old tea set, a vintage plastic toy castle with all of the little plastic people inside, two big ferns, several succulents growing out of a bright orange mug, a picture of himself figure skating as a kid, a team picture from Jack’s senior year, framed and settled amongst family photos. There are four pucks on his coffee table that appear to be serving as coasters. 

“No, I got my own place this year. Lord knows I love ‘em all, but there is only so long one can live with five gay boys before someone sleeps with someone else and everything goes to shit and we all move out.”

“Well, I like your place.”

“Thanks.”

Jack runs his finger along the edge of the old rocking chair Bitty has in the corner. 

“I don’t even know what you do now, Bits.”

Bitty comes back in with two tumblers of ice water, sets them down on the coasters and takes a seat on the sofa. “Oh nothing special. Run my vlog, and I’ve been a barista for the past two years. It’s not glamorous and I work for a big ol’ corporation, but I make great tips and have benefits and all the grown-up things. And I can make all of those little designs in the foam, you know?”

Jack smiles. “Yeah, I can see you getting into that.”

“I opened this morning, which is how I was able to be off by one. In case you were curious.”

“Good schedule.”

“Has been. But I’ll be moving in a few weeks. I have to give my notice next Monday, lord help me.”

That’s right. Jack had forgotten for a moment.

“NYU.”

Bitty’s cheeks pink up, and Jack thinks he hasn’t seen him look so proud since the days of checking practice. 

“I’m so excited, Jack. New York. I mean, little ol’ me from Madison, Georgia, in the big city with all of these famous directors and artists.” He shakes his head. “I get a little overwhelmed sometimes, thinkin’ about it.”

Jack stares at Bitty, at his joyful blush and the easy conversation and the warmth of everything about him. Stares, and consciously thinks, _Who the hell am I kidding?_. He almost says it out loud.

Instead, he opens his mouth and says, “I’ve never stopped being in love with you, Bits.”

Shit.

Bitty locks eyes with him for an endless moment. Jack remembers the feeling he’d had when Bitty had broken things off, of hanging, weightless, ready to fall.

“That’s probably not something you’re supposed to say to me, sweetheart,” Bitty says. His eyes never leave Jack’s face. 

“No. I guess not.” Jack is still standing next to the rocking chair, just holding onto it like a lifeline. 

“So. What do we do now?” Bitty asks, still staring. 

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“I can see your ring from here.”

Jack looks down at his own hand gripping the wood of the chair, at the band of gold shining there. Thinks of the texts on his phone, and Entertainment Weekly, and the cover of _Sports Illustrated_. 

“I should go.”

“Yeah.”

Jack drags his eyes away from Bitty and starts towards the door. How had he made so many mistakes, ended up here? He can hear the telltale sounds that Bitty has stood up to follow him out. Jack’s entire body is stiff with uncertainty. He needs to leave, but god, he needs to stay. Needs to find out what the hell is going on.

Jack turns around suddenly, just to say something, anything (“Why,” maybe? Or “I’m sorry”). But when he turns, Bitty is right there, almost crashed into him he’s so close. 

Jack’s hands don’t pay any attention to his panicking brain, just lift themselves up to cup Bitty’s jaw, and Bitty is so close Jack can see every freckle. Jack feels Bitty’s hands find Jack’s shirt and grab on tight.

It's Jack who leans in first, but Bitty is right there, his lips parted and waiting, and kissing him feels like coming home. 

It’s not a chaste kiss, by any standard. Jack feels every movement of Bitty’s lips and hands, right down to his fingertips, right through his skin. But it escalates from deep and longing to biting and sharp in a matter of seconds. 

Bitty pulls Jack against him, hard, and then walks him backwards until Jack crashes awkwardly into the wall of the little alcove by the front door, never breaking apart, Bitty’s mouth devouring and hungry. Jack’s body gets entirely away from him, like it’s tasted water after a long drought, and can’t get enough. He gets an arm around Bitty’s back and pulls him closer, so their chests are pressed up against each other, then tumbles them back against the other wall, and the little set of prints Bitty has hanging by the door all rattle and shudder. 

It feels so good, Jack’s shaking. It’s like all of the years in between have vanished. No, that’s not it. It’s like all of those years existed just to make this moment more sweet for the waiting. If he comes up for air even for a moment, he knows he’ll fall apart. So he shifts his lips and tongue, hot against Bitty’s mouth, and lets the kiss go on and on. 

Jack suddenly becomes aware of his dick, hot and hard in his jeans, and it all crashes down on him at once. He pulls away, steps back, breathless and aching and horrified. 

“I have to go.”

Bitty is breathing hard and leaning back against the wall like he’s in shock. His hair is sticking up on one side where Jack must have gotten a hand in it and tugged. Fuck. 

“Yeah. You should.”

They stare at each other again, just trying to catch their breaths. Jack is so in love that he can’t move. 

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to.”

Jack nods and tries to form some sort of coherent thought, but he’s got nothing. 

“I’m so sorry, Bits. I have to...” he manages, then gets the door open between them. 

“I know, Jack,” Bitty says, his voice rough. 

Jack walks out and doesn’t look back. 

*


	5. Chapter 5

Somehow Jack makes it back to his car and drives home safely, even though he can’t feel his hands for most of the trip. 

His mind fluctuates between broadcasting blank fuzz and a cycle of panicked thoughts. _Bitty. Can’t do this. Geoff. Marriage. Everyone. I just came out. Shit. Bitty._ And then a short circuit and the blank fuzz takes over again. 

Back in his apartment, still on autopilot, Jack pulls together a nice meal: marinated chicken thighs ready for the grill, green bean salad, rice. He sets the table, even adds placemats and candles. They should be celebrating, Jack thinks. It’s been a big week. One of the most important of his life.

Every hour or so, his fingers find their way up to his lips, run along them, trying to recapture the feel of Bitty’s tongue and teeth, the way he pressed in so hard and needy against him. Then just as immediately he shuts himself down, drags his hand away to chop or mince or stir. Fuck.

Geoff had estimated he’d be over by ten, so Jack settles in and stares at ESPN for a few hours (he and Geoff are mentioned twice), until it’s late enough that he can fire up the grill on the deck. He cooks the chicken in the dark, then plates the food, lights the candles, and settles in at the table for Geoff to appear.

After an hour, the food is cold, and Jack is still sitting there. 

He checks his phone. Amongst the endless texts and media alerts from Alain, there’s one from Geoff.

**Geoff** _Babe, still so much to do. Probably be there closer to midnight._

Jack blows out the candles, puts the plates in the refrigerator, and goes to bed.

He wakes up when Geoff crawls in next to him and the mattress shifts. Geoff’s hands brush over Jack’s chest and stomach, and he presses a soft kiss in against Jack’s throat. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his eyes still closed.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’fine.” 

“Looks like I missed dinner?”

“Mmm.”

Jack shifts a little, and Geoff’s hands get more creative, one finding its way to Jack’s ass, the other reaching down to cup his dick. “Can I make it up to you?”

Jack’s brain gets a sudden flash of imagery, of Bitty’s parted lips and flushed cheeks, and his entire body floods with heat. 

He bolts back and shoves Geoff’s hands away. 

“What the hell, Jack?” 

Shit.

The only thing he can think to do is to dive back in, tackling Geoff backwards against the headboard, holding him there, licking a long stripe along his bare chest and then going down on him hard and fast. Geoff is coming all over Jack’s chin before he has a chance to ask anything more.

Geoff pulls Jack up against him, and Jack lets himself be held, even though it makes his chest ache. 

“I should stay this late at work more often, babe,” Geoff murmurs into Jack’s hair.

Jack can’t think of anything to say to that.

Geoff stretches out beside him, his breath evening out into sleep. Jack thinks, _This is my life now. It’s a good life. I won’t fuck it up._

Eventually, he manages a few hours of sleep.

*

Geoff is gone when Jack wakes up the next day. If Jack remembers correctly, his hearing was scheduled for nine o’clock. 

There’s a little handwritten note left on the table, still set for dinner, candles burned down to stubs. 

_J- Raided the fridge. Chicken and green beans, breakfast of champions- thanks, babe. Late night again tonight. I plan to go home to my place. Join me later? -G_

Jack spends the morning cleaning up and aggressively not thinking about the day before.

*

**Maman** _Have you and Geoff thought about location yet? I have a florist I want to suggest, but he’s based out of Providence._

**Maman** _Do you even want a florist?_

**Jack** _I don’t know. Maybe ask Geoff? I’m fine with anything._

**Maman** _You okay, honey? I know there’s a lot going on right now. There was a nice mention in the NYT today. Do you want me to come down?_

**Jack** _I’m okay._

**Maman** _Call if you need to._

*

Jack goes into the Falconers practice facility around noon. He’s not scheduled for anything in particular but his body is restless and congested, and he’s craving a hard workout. 

The gym is empty, so Jack just launches into a familiar series he used to do regularly back at Samwell to work his back, shoulders, and legs. He’s worked up a solid sweat when someone else comes into the gym.

It’s one of last season’s rookies, Olafson. Big defenseman out of Minnesota. They nod to each other and Jack could be imagining things, but he thinks the kid’s face gets beet red before he’s even started lifting. 

After a few minutes, they wind up at machines near each other.

“Hey, Cap,” Olafson says, his face still rosy.

“Glad to see you in,” Jack says. “Hard work in the summer will pay off in the season.”

“Hope so.”

They fall silent except for their grunting. The clang of the machines takes over in the quiet. 

After a few reps, while they are both resting Olafson says, “Congrats, Cap. I know I didn’t say anything in chat. Didn’t know what to say. But I’m happy for you. I’m not weird about it or anything.”

Jack smiles. “Thanks.”

“I’ve screwed a lot of chicks lately, and it’s cool and all, but shit. I keep thinking how lucky you are to have found someone you love enough to want to be with forever? And like, tell the world about. I’m so fucking far away from that, it’s nuts.”

“You shouldn’t call women ‘chicks,’ Olafson,” Jack says, but his heart is pounding like a hammer at the kid’s words.

“Sorry, Cap. Women, yeah.”

“Better.”

“But the point is, it’s cool that you’re so in love. Right?”

Jack rises from the bench and starts toweling it down, because he can’t stay in this conversation another second. “It is. Hey, finish strong.” 

“See ya, Cap.”

Jack dashes to the showers and stands under the cold water for a long time.

When he gets to his car, he starts driving towards Boston without even thinking.

*

Once he’s parked outside of Bitty’s place, Jack actually stops for a minute to consider what he’s doing.

He’s made it less than twenty-four hours since promising himself that he’s not going to let this thing with Bitty ruin the life he’s built. Yet here he is.

Because this thing with Bitty _is_ the life he’s built.

Jack gets out his phone.

**Jack** _Hey, are you at work?_

Jack has to wait for several minutes to get a response. 

**Bittle** _No. I’m home. Want to talk?_

Jack’s gut aches with fear and he closes his eyes for a moment before responding.

**Jack** _I’m outside._

His phone remains silent. Jack’s heart races and he shoots anxious looks back and forth between his phone and Bitty’s front window. Then the curtain pulls back, and Bitty’s face, shocked and still, appears for a moment. Jack raises a hand in greeting and the curtain falls back in place. 

Jack gets out of his car and trots over to Bitty’s door, a side entrance to the main house, trying not to look like he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be. He arrives just as Bitty throws the door open, wearing some old shorts and a Samwell t-shirt and still pulling on his Slides like he’s about to step out. 

They both freeze.

Jack chews on his lower lip for a moment, staring at Bitty’s worried expression, at his pink cheeks and big brown eyes. 

Bitty stands in the doorway, staring right back.

“Bits, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Bitty’s face softens and he looks almost sad. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s true.”

The ache in Jack’s gut gives way to something deeper, and he lets himself fall into Bitty’s personal space, meeting soft, eager lips with his own, wrapping his arms around Bitty as tight as they can go, lifting him up and walking them backwards into Bitty's little apartment. Kicking the door shut behind them. 

He’s missed kissing Bitty so much that Jack thinks for a while that maybe this is all that they’ll do, just stand in the entryway, kissing each other, rediscovering every flavor and angle and patch of sensitive skin, until one of them realizes they can't actually be doing this and makes it stop. 

But there’s no sign of anyone wising up or slowing down. Bitty’s hands drift up under Jack’s shirt, and Jack lets his hands wander down to run along the elastic of Bitty’s shorts, shorts he remembers, shorts he’s removed before. 

It’s all a bit much, and Jack’s thankful when Bitty’s hands press solidly against Jack’s chest and his lips go a little stiff so he can end their kiss and pull back for a few breaths. 

“This is happening,” Bitty pants, eyes so gentle.

“We can stop.”

“Do you want to?”

Jack inhales through his nose. “I came here for this,” he admits for the first time, even to himself. 

Bitty leans in and kisses him on the nose. Jack thinks he might melt. 

“I’m not kicking you out, Jack. But I’m scared to death about how I feel. About all of this.”

Jack buries his face against Bitty’s shoulder, murmurs, “Moi aussi,” right into Bitty’s shirt.

Bitty wraps an arm around Jack’s back and leads him the few short steps to his tiny bedroom, sits them down shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Then Bitty reaches over to cup Jack’s jaw, turn his head, and draw him down into the sweetest kiss; Jack’s whole body literally sighs into it, just relaxes and gives in. 

It’s easy after that. Everything about Bitty is familiar and new at the same time.

They’d had a very positive sex life, before. It’s one of the many truths locked up in Jack’s memory that he’s only just barely let himself peek back into now that whatever this is has started. So Jack remembers how much Bitty loves to use his fingertips, all up and down his body, teasing and tickling and making them both laugh and shudder. And he remembers how sensitive the skin is at the crease between Bitty’s thigh and belly, knows how quickly Bitty will start to whimper once Jack gets his mouth down there, and he finds out that hasn’t changed at all. 

But other things are all new. Before, Jack always felt in charge when they hooked up, the older, experienced one, even after a year together. Now, Bitty pulls off Jack’s shirt, shoves Jack back onto the bed and straddles him, his face set and determined. Bitty yanks at Jack’s hair while Jack blows him, directing the pace and making Jack draw the whole thing out until he can’t breathe or see he’s so turned on. 

Before, Jack had never been completely lost in himself when they were together, always some part of him staying detached and intellectual. Now, Jack’s floating free from the earth, a unique mass of elements and electricity, ecstatic and rare.

He comes, rutting all over Bitty’s ass and back, splayed on top of him, in the midst of a deep kiss over Bitty’s shoulder that doesn’t even end with Jack’s orgasm. Jack can’t tell where his skin ends and Bitty’s begins. 

They are sweaty and sticky and pressed into each other. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and Jack is engaged to someone else.

“I can’t…” Bitty starts to say, so Jack pulls him close and kisses him hard so that he doesn’t finish his sentence.

*

When Bitty hasn’t moved for a few minutes, Jack tries to wriggle out from under him. He doesn’t protest, so it seems likely that he’s fallen asleep. 

Jack eases out of bed, spends a minute locating his shorts, and digs his phone out of the pocket. 

Out in Bitty’s cute living room, he calls up his texts.

**Jack** _Hope the hearing is going well. Thanks for the note this morning. I drove to Boston to see friends. Probably won’t see you until tomorrow._

Jack hits send, and for the first time he really feels like he’s doing something wrong.

*

Bitty’s awake when Jack comes back into the bedroom, sitting up, legs still under the covers, hugging his knees and looking worried. His hair is a wild mess of sweaty curls. Jack wants to kiss every freckle.

“Do you have to go?” Bitty asks as Jack comes back into the room.

“No. I can stay for a while.”

Bitty’s face relaxes. “Okay.”

Jack crawls back under the covers and Bitty nuzzles up against him and wraps his arms around Jack’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Bitty says.

“I’m not,” Jack replies. “I love you, Bits.”

“What’s going to happen?”

Jack lets his hands run slowly up and down Bitty’s back. “We’re going to work it out,” he says at last. And he means it.

*

They laze around in bed for another hour, talking a little, but mostly just lying there together, being. Jack doesn’t let himself think about anything beyond the walls of this little apartment.

“Can you stay for dinner?” Bitty asks eventually.

“If you want me to.”

Bitty sits up then and crosses his legs, still keeping one hand on Jack’s chest. “Jack, honey, can we just agree now that we both want this? I feel like we’re walking on eggshells, sweet pea, and we don’t need to be. Please stay. If I had my way, you’d stay forever.”

Jack sits up and kisses Bitty again. “I want to stay for dinner, bud.”

“Good.”

They get up and pull on enough clothes so that they can navigate through chopping and stir-frying together in Bitty’s little kitchen without the entire event devolving right back into the bedroom- although it’s a close thing a couple of times, when Jack can’t keep his hands to himself. 

Jack gets Bitty talking about his work friends and his old roommates, people Jack knows he would know all about if the past two and a half years had not happened. Bitty gets Jack talking about the Falconers, catching him up on gossip and injuries and babies he’d missed being born. They avoid talking about Geoff or New York City or the future, and for a little while, Jack can imagine none of it even exists.

They sit cross-legged next to each other on the floor so they can eat off of the old chest that Bitty uses as a coffee table. 

“So, um,” Jack says, his mouth full of sticky rice, “You… learned stuff.” 

Bitty frowns over a bite of broccoli. “What do you mean?”

“How many guys did you hook up with? You know. Since.”

Bitty’s cheeks blush pink. “Jack Zimmermann. Maybe that’s none of your beeswax.”

“Ten?”

Bitty’s eyes go wide. “No! My goodness.”

“Five?”

Bitty’s eyebrows go up and his lips purse together and Jack thinks he might be the most adorable human being on earth. 

“Depends what you’re counting, you snoop,” he says. “Slept with? Four. Made out with? Around eight. Well, more if you count when you just start kissin’ on some guy while you're dancing at a club, but you don’t even remember which one he was by the end of the song.”

“Jeez, Bits.” Jack can feel his face heat at the image.

“I had some good times, and that’s a fact.” Bitty takes another big bite of stir-fry. When he speaks again, his voice deepens, and his tone is serious. “But I was done with all that awhile back, sweetheart. I should’ve told you sooner.”

When Jack kisses him this time, Bitty tastes like bok choy and soy sauce.

*

They don’t dwell on goodbyes, although they do stand in the entryway and hold each other for a very long time.

“I need to figure things out,” Jack says, his chin resting on Bitty’s head.

“I know.” Bitty’s voice is muffled against Jack’s chest.

“I probably shouldn’t see you while I do that.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll check in though. I promise.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Somehow, they finally let go. 

*

Somewhere around Attleboro, Jack has to exit and pull off to the side of the road for a few minutes. His vision is blurred, and it takes a moment for him to realize it’s because he’s crying, and that he must have been crying for a while to have such a damp collar.

He breathes and wipes his face with his sleeve and then tries to breathe some more. 

Jack knows he should call someone. He’s been in therapy long enough to know when he’s in trouble.

Lardo picks up on the first ring.

“Zimmermann.”

Jack’s body calms just hearing her voice. “Hey, Lards.”

“Okay. You know I’m at Gram and Bapa’s house, and it’s almost ten o’clock, which is a really odd time for you to be calling me, so spill it. It’s something, dude, so don’t pretend.”

Jack fumbles around with what to say, then lands on, “I’m crying, and I don’t know why.”

It’s quiet on the other end of the line. 

“You safe?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you considered that your week has been a freakin’ shitshow of media idiots and homophobic asswipes? That you just took one of the biggest steps of your life? Dare I suggest that might be the issue?”

“That’s not it.” Jack stares into the dark, and thinks about how little he’s even been tracking what the media is saying about him since the press release. 

“Then what is it?”

Another car buzzes by. As the headlights flash through Jack’s car, suddenly, he knows. 

“I think maybe it’s because for the first time in a long time… I’m happy.” 

That’s it. Tears spring to his eyes at the realization.

“Fuck, Zimmermann. That’s the single corniest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Jack chokes out a laugh, and that makes the tears start to flow again. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Better not. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to be happy for you, too, asshole.”

Jack can hear her grin over the phone. 

He wishes that he could tell her why, why his entire body feels lighter, why his future has meaning again. But he can’t. He can hardly let himself think about Bitty, much less try to explain what’s happened to anyone else. But he knows, all the same.

“Okay, happy guy. Sounds like you are fine,” Lardo says. “Punch Geoff in the nuts for me.”

Right. Geoff. 

Geoff.

*

Once he’s back on the road, the guilt kicks in like a steel-toed boot.

Jack wonders when he officially crossed the line. He’s miles past it now, but when was the betrayal? Was it already too late when they kissed yesterday? Was it on that park bench, when they decided to go back to Bitty’s place? Or was it farther back? The moment Jack had decided to call Bitty at all? Or when he didn’t just hang up on him at two in the morning?

Or worse. Is it that part of him has been with Bitty all along, had never really let go?

It doesn’t matter, he thinks, as the Providence skyline comes into view. He’s a cheater, all the same.

*


	6. Chapter 6

Jack falls into bed once he’s home, exhausted, and sleeps all night. In the morning, he’s hardly moved. 

He gets up at dawn and goes for a long run, as if running hard and far enough will help him sort out what he’s meant to do now. He desperately wants to call Bitty, but he doesn’t. He leaves his phone at home and just runs.

When he gets back, he takes a shower and shaves and puts on clean clothes. He takes his meds, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Then he scrubs the bathroom, tidies the living room, wipes down the kitchen. He grabs a few of the various meaningful pucks he has tucked away in a drawer in his bedroom and puts them out on the coffee table as coasters. Then he gets himself a cup of coffee, sets it on his first NHL goal, and pulls out his phone. 

It’s only been two days since Bitty first called him, but it feels like it’s been a month. His phone alerts look like it's been a month as well. 

Jack is determined to respond to everything. He needs his life to be in order right now. 

He tackles the messages from Alain first. In the end, it all seems to come down to the fact that Alain is waiting on Jack to set up the interview with _Sports Illustrated_ , that Jack has his choice of TV appearances when he’s ready to choose one, and that the gay kid from Toronto (Alphonse Benham, drafted by the Avs) is interested in meeting up with Jack and maybe doing some sort of campaign together. 

Jack calls Alain at his office in Montreal, and Alain practically sobs over the phone to finally hear from Jack in person. Jack asks him to hold off on committing to anything for another few days, except that he asks if he can have Benham’s contact information so he can call him in person. Alain sets him up and Jack promises he’ll check in again on Monday if Alain promises to send less than three texts a day from now on. Alain laughs a bit manically and agrees.

George has been in touch as well, so he updates her via text. She texts back immediately with a thank you.

Jack has about ten unanswered congratulatory texts from various friends: Ransom, Chowder, Tater, Thirdy, Camilla (who he needs to call), Johnson… he sends each of them a one-liner back. It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s better than continuing to ignore them.

He sends a proactive text to his parents that says, _Feel good today. Working out some media stuff with Alain. Hope you are not besieged as well._

Shitty and Lardo get a joint message that says, _Dinner next week? What day?_

He calls and leaves a message for his therapist, requesting an appointment for Monday.

Then he stretches, sighs, and gets up to do a lap of the apartment before tackling the last two messages he wants to send. 

**Jack** _Good morning, G. How did the hearing go? Need to see you later._

And 

**Jack** _Hey Bits. You okay today?_

He swallows the last of his coffee, pockets his phone, and walks downstairs towards the bakery on the corner to get himself some breakfast.

A text back from Bitty appears on the way.

**Bittle** _I’m okay. Worried._

Jack breathes a little easier hearing Bitty’s honesty. 

**Jack** _I know. Me too, bud_

At the bakery, two men stare at him the entire time he’s in line, and finally one of them says, “Brave move, Zimmermann.”

On the walk home, Jack can’t decide if he was meant to take that as support, or a threat.

*

Jack has the best of intentions, he really does. He spends the next two hours sprawled on his own sofa, playing out various scenarios for being honest with Geoff. He won’t let this go on. He has to come clean.

Then he gets a text back from Geoff.

**Geoff** _Of course you are going to see me tonight, babe. It’s Saturday, our night out, remember? Look sharp and be ready at six. I made plans._

Jack’s mind starts whirling. He can’t do this. He can feel his skin get clammy and his face heat.

**Jack** _Okay. See you at six._

He needs to speak with someone, talk himself down, but he doesn’t have anyone he can call, not about this. He gets back in the shower and stays in there until his skin starts to feel normal again.

*

Geoff knocks on the door at six o’clock exactly. He’s in a dark suit, styled just right, with a magenta tie. He’s had his hair cut sometime in the last two days. 

He’s holding a single rose, which he holds out to Jack, that little crooked smile on his face. 

“For you, babe.”

Jack doesn’t _not_ love him. Not even a little bit. 

Jack takes the rose, and when Geoff leans in to kiss him, Jack kisses him back. He wants to pull him close, and tell him everything, wants to make sure Geoff knows he’s meant every moment of this, until now.

All of the words he’s practiced to himself in the afternoon stick in his throat. He can’t. He doesn’t know how to do this. Doesn’t know if he even wants to. 

“Thanks, Geoff.”

“Let’s go make some heads turn, babe.”

*

Geoff’s plans for their first night out turn out to be tickets to the Rhode Island Philharmonic. 

Jack has never been to a symphony before. It’s beautiful, but endless. Jack rarely sits still that long, just listening, and his legs start twitching before the intermission. Geoff knows all of the rules, about when to clap and when to be silent, so Jack watches him and tries to follow along. 

Geoff’s hand keeps finding his knee and squeezing: as the lights dim, between pieces, at certain moments in the music. Jack’s impulse is to twitch away, but this is the point, isn’t it? To be out, to act like any other couple would act on a date to the symphony, casual touches, and small kisses, and intimate whispers. 

Every moment of it hurts. 

Geoff knows half of the crowd at intermission. Dorothy McCann and her husband invite them into the founders club room for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. Geoff introduces Jack to so many clients and friends, the volume starts building up in Jack’s ears and he can feel sweat pooling under his arms. 

After the symphony, Geoff has made reservations at the Waterman Grille. They are recognized immediately, even just waiting by the front desk. Jack sees at least five people take pictures of them with their phones. He feels naked. 

Geoff buys them more champagne and his face glows golden in the candlelight. Every time another fan comes over for an autograph, Geoff looks at Jack like it is the best moment of his life. 

*

Back at Geoff’s place, after dinner, Geoff methodically and meticulously removes Jack’s clothes (a gray suit he’d had tailored last year, and the blue tie he loves and has had forever) murmuring, “I’m marrying you, Jack Zimmermann,” and “People fucking love you,” and “You looked so perfect tonight,” and on and on.

Jack can’t speak, just lets Geoff take control so that he doesn’t have to make any decisions. He doesn’t _not_ want to have sex, not really. 

Geoff falls to his knees and sucks Jack off right in the middle of the living room, then gets him flat on his back in bed and fucks him, real slow. Jack keeps his head turned to the side and watches their bodies move together in one of Geoff’s mirrors. It’s much easier than looking Geoff in the eye.

*

Once Geoff is asleep, Jack sneaks back out to the living room.

**Jack** _This is complicated._

Bitty writes back after a few minutes. 

**Bittle** _I know, honey._

**Bittle** _I’m not going anywhere._

But that’s not true, Jack thinks. Bitty’s going to New York, starting a whole new chapter of his life. One where Jack has no idea where he might fit in. 

His head throbs, but Jack can’t actually get to sleep for hours.

*

In the morning, Jack wakes up after only a couple of hours rest and takes himself out for another long run. This time, even he cannot deny that he is running away from his own shit. 

When he gets back, Geoff is gone, but he’s left a note. 

_J- Work still has me plowed under. I didn’t want to talk about it last night and ruin our evening. I’ll be in the office all day, and tomorrow looks pretty fucked as well, if not longer. I’ll call you later. Hope you had a good run, babe. Love ya. -G_

Jack cleans up Geoff’s bedroom, throws the sheets in the laundry, and leaves him a note in return at the bottom of the same sheet of notepaper. 

_I understand. Thanks for last night. Call me when you get your head above water. -J_

Suddenly, the difficult but immediate conversation Jack had planned is put on hold indefinitely. The feeling of being left hanging in midair is strong and terrifying. 

Jack leaves Geoff’s place, keys in his pocket, suit and tie hung up and slung over his shoulder. A part of him feels like he’s never coming back. 

*

Jack makes it through two days by calling one of his favorite trainers, Vince, and setting up times to meet with him for some strength and leg work. 

Vince isn’t available all week, though. 

On Wednesday, Jack finds himself alone and floaty in the early morning. He has absolutely nothing planned; he just gets into his car and starts driving. Maybe he’ll visit Shitty, he thinks. Or just go for a long day trip to clear his head, maybe out onto the Cape. 

He’s parked in front of Bitty’s place before he even knows what he’s doing. 

**Jack** _I’m driving out to the Cape. Want to come?_

**Bittle** _Bad idea?_

**Jack** _Probably_

**Bittle** _When?_

**Jack** _Now_

There’s a short pause between texts then, and Jack thinks he might need to just leave. Then.

**Bittle** _You are already here_

**Jack** _I can drive away_

**Bittle** _Stay put, don’t leave_

Bitty comes dashing out about five minutes later, in shorts and a tank top, with a little bag slung over his shoulder. Jack hasn’t seen him in a few days; he feels himself let out a deep breath of relief. 

Bitty pops open the passenger side door and hops in. As he slams the door, he says, “I’ll have you know this is the most irrational thing I’ve ever done.”

Jack smiles at him, keeps his hands firmly at ten and two on the steering wheel. 

“What? Driving to Cape Cod?”

Bitty looks at him, his brows pinched and serious. Jack’s heart stutters. “Sweetheart, that’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” 

Jack swallows hard and meets Bitty’s gaze. “I know.”

Bitty purses his lips and nods, then directs his gaze back out the front. “So. Let’s go.”

They drive in silence for several miles. Jack keeps sneaking little glances over to Bitty. He’s sitting straight backed and stiff, holding his bag in his lap in a firm grip. 

They pull onto 3 and the miles start passing in a monotonous tree-lined blur. Jack feels his breathing grow shallow, like the silence is a band slowly tightening around his chest. He can't stand it.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, out of nowhere.

Bitty is quiet for a minute, then says, “I know, honey. Me too. I wish we weren’t in this mess.”

“I wasn’t brave enough.”

Bitty lets his hand cross over the center console and come to rest on Jack’s knee. He squeezes gently, just enough. 

Jack thinks, _Yet. I wasn’t brave enough, yet._

Bitty says, “I think you’ve been plenty brave recently, Jack.” He squeezes Jack’s thigh again. “Let’s just drive for now?”

The painful silence slowly dissipates. After a few more miles, Bitty sighs and starts in on a story about one of his regular customers, and Jack sinks into his voice. 

Eventually, Bitty gets music going, and it helps slow down the rapid spinning of thoughts in Jack’s brain. They cross the bridge and the pace slows down even further, just the rhythmic swoosh of cars passing on the highway, Bitty’s music keeping the mood light, and occasionally their voices, breaking through. 

“Where’re we going, anyway?” Bitty asks after a few more miles pass, and they’ve had their first small glimpses of the ocean. 

Jack shakes his head. “Don’t have a plan.”

He takes a quick glance over at Bitty. The late morning light is golden against his skin, so tan from the summer. He’s smiling a little. He’s let his bag drop to the floor of the car and has one foot up on the dashboard. 

It all seems so simple and obvious when they are together.

“Suppose it doesn’t really matter,” Bitty says. “But I’d like to get some sand between my toes.”

“We can do that,” Jack says. 

*

They aim for the ocean side. The beaches are more rugged and less populated. They don’t talk about the fear of being seen together, but it’s obvious to Jack they are both thinking about it. 

Except for Bitty’s hand on his knee, they haven’t touched at all. They pull into a parking area and Jack turns off the ignition. He can hear the soothing pound of the surf down below, even with the windows closed. 

Jack’s arm reaches out and he lets his hand cup the back of Bitty’s neck, fingers brushing the soft edge of his hairline. There’s only a few people in sight, a woman with her dog, up on a dune in the distance, a family packing beach gear into their trunk. Bitty presses back against Jack’s hand, rolls his neck into his palm. 

“It doesn’t have to be more than this, sweetheart,” Bitty says, his voice so soft. “If it’s too hard.”

Jack’s whole body twitches at that, and he finds himself leaning across, pulling Bitty in towards him, their mouths meeting, hot and open and not at all like two people who think it doesn’t need to be more than this. 

“Oh lord, someone will see,” Bitty murmurs against Jack’s lips. 

Jack pulls back, closes his eyes. Allows his forehead rest against Bitty’s for a moment.

“Let's walk,” Jack says. 

He wants a time machine. 

*

They leave a huge space between themselves, walking along through the shallowest edge of the surf, each with shoes in hand. The air is salty and warm, the breeze light and persistent. 

Most of the beach goers are settled in near the boardwalk from the parking area, but even after Jack and Bitty have wandered down the beach for several minutes, far from the crowd, they don’t reach for each other again. 

Jack imagines for a minute what it would be like to be here with Bitty if the last years hadn’t come between them. Would they be holding hands? Sitting together under a beach umbrella? Would Jack even be out? Would Bitty? Would that have been better? Or worse? 

Jack wishes he knew what Bitty was thinking, as he smiles and scampers away from the incoming tide, shooting little looks at Jack. But he’s far too scared to ask. 

*

They don’t stay at the beach for long. Bitty nods nervously towards a guy with a huge telephoto lens, taking shots of the dunes. Jack swallows. They walk even further apart on the way back, Jack charging ahead towards the car, Bitty intentionally falling behind. 

They’ve hardly spoken for the entire walk. Jack can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t seem either forced or painful. 

When Bitty finally gets back to the car, Jack already has the car in drive and his foot ready to hit the gas. As soon as Bitty is buckled, he pulls out and heads back towards route 6. 

Jack becomes more and more aware that his skin is hot and uncomfortable. This entire day has him thrown off balance. He never should have done this. He needs to deal with Geoff, and then he’ll be ready to have Bitty back in his life. Like he’d planned. This is not the way to do it. Shit. Nothing feels certain. Everything is spinning.

“Jack, honey?” Bitty’s voice rolls through his thoughts like cool water. “Jack, pull over, sweetheart.”

“Huh?” Jack glances over at Bitty in the passenger seat.

“Pull over. You need to.” 

Bitty’s voice is soft and concerned. 

There’s an abandoned restaurant of some sort just ahead. Painted letters reading _Crab Shack_ can still be faintly made out along the side. The parking lot is cracked and full of weeds, but Jack pulls in and drives the SUV around the back, where no one can see them. God, he’s tired of being looked at.

“What is it, Bits?” Jack manages, once he’s set the car into park. 

“Leave the AC on, would ya?” Bitty says. It’s his practical, take charge voice. Jack can just barely hear it through the ringing in his ears. 

Bitty hops out of his door and trots around to the back of the car. Jack watches him in the rear view mirror, rearranging some of Jack’s gear in the back and then folding down the rear seats. Spreading out Jack’s big fleece blanket that he always keeps in the car for emergencies. 

Jack is still gripping the steering wheel and trying to stay on the ground. 

“Come on back here, honey,” Bitty says, and he comes around to Jack’s door, holding it open. His hands are on Jack then, pulling him along, and feeling Bitty touch him helps the spinning slow, just a little. 

“We’re just gonna take a minute right now. C’mon.”

Somehow, Bitty gets him into the empty back of the SUV and then climbs in himself. Bitty lays on his side on the blanket, and then holds his arms out to Jack. 

“Just lay down with me for a bit. Just a bit. I think we both need it.”

Bitty looks so beautiful. 

“I'm thirsty, Bits.”

“I have a big ol’ water bottle in my bag, up front. Lemme get it.” Bitty sits up and then clambers into the front for the water. Jack closes his eyes for a minute and wonders how on earth he’s ended up in the back of his own car, on Cape Cod, with Bitty, having a panic attack. 

“Here you go.”

Jack guzzles half of the water and then offers some to Bitty, who is sitting with him now on the blanket, his knees pressed up against Jack’s. 

The cool water, and the soft touch of Bitty’s skin against his own, and the world stops whirling, comes to a calm standstill. Jack lets his breathing slow, one count at a time.

“I was losing you back there, sweetheart,” Bitty says, gently brushing the hair from Jack’s forehead. 

“I know. I’m okay. Just. It’s too much. I shouldn’t have bothered you again.”

“I’m not bothered, Jack. You are not a bother.” Bitty taps him on the nose with his finger, and Jack feels his heart leap into his throat. 

“Why isn’t this easier?” he says. 

Bitty shakes his head and shrugs, his eyes so big and hopeful. “I guess... it ain’t supposed to be?”

Jack pulls Bitty down to him then, into a soft, slow kiss. If he’s honest, it’s all he’s actually wanted all day. Beach walks and long drives were just cover. 

They wrap up together on the soft blanket, holding on tight. Jack feels his pulse continue to slow. Bitty’s hands ease under Jack’s shirt and onto his back. Jack suddenly needs to to feel Bitty’s skin against him. He sits up and pulls off his shirt, then tugs at the hem of Bitty’s tank top and Bitty takes the hint and wriggles it over his head and off, and they pull close again, warm skin making as much contact as possible.

It’s different this time, because there’s no doubt they both know they should not be doing this. It’s a choice. No one is being swept away with memory, it’s not overwhelming or frantic. In fact, it’s slow and the back of the car is pretty uncomfortable. There’s many moments when they could stop (when Jack hits his head on the drink holders, when Bitty rolls onto Jack’s emergency tool set still hidden under the blanket), but they don’t. Bitty spends minutes just letting his fingers trace around Jack’s chest, casual and slow, like he’s relearning him, Jack just watching. Jack can’t stop touching Bitty’s hair, letting his thumb roll along Bitty’s jaw. 

Eventually, the touches and kisses escalate, and it’s so easy to just slip off shorts and reach down to fist Bitty’s dick and make him come. And just as easy to lay back while Bitty’s sucks him off, fingers pressing greedily at Jack’s ass. It’s easy to forget they’re hiding in the back of a car at an abandoned restaurant on Cape Cod. It’s all easy, this moment of forgetfulness. 

They don’t need to prove anything to each other. This time, Jack thinks, it’s just because they want to. 

They don’t need to lie there in the stuffy air of the car, clothes off and sticky, legs and arms tangled close, exchanging little kisses and whispering to each other, long after. But they do that, too. 

In his head, Jack starts adding up the value of his crimes. 

*

The drive back to Boston is awkward and long. They listen to music, and talk about nothing, off and on. The car smells like sex. 

Jack idles the SUV in front of Bitty’s apartment and they sit there in silence for a minute. 

“You give me a call sometime, mister,” Bitty says finally. He’s clutching his bag to his chest. “But I won’t expect it anytime soon.”

“Bits?” 

Jack’s heart is in his throat.

“I’ll call you when it’s right. I won’t do this again.”

Bitty has one hand on the door handle as he turns back and nods. His eyes are watery and Jack hurts. 

“When it’s right,” Jack says again. And then Bitty hops out of the car and is gone. 

*

Jack drives with the windows down for most of the way back to Providence. He has the blanket folded on the seat to take to the laundry. Disposing of the evidence. 

He spends the hour imagining a conversation with Geoff. Or more truthfully, he spends the hour imagining different ways to start a conversation with Geoff. 

_There’s something we need to talk about._

_I have to tell you something and I don’t know how._

_Geoff, I don’t know how to say this._

_This isn’t working, Geoff._

_Can we sit down for a minute?_

Maybe that one. Maybe that one he can actually say, Jack thinks. 

His traitorous mind won’t stop there though. He’s bombarded by his own memories. Dinners with Geoff when things were just starting to get serious between them. When Geoff would order full catered feasts set up at his place for the nights Jack returned from a roadie, but they wouldn’t get to it before it got cold. Or going out on Tomas’s boat, craft beers and dolmas until sunset, Geoff’s arms around him and his lips tickling against his throat.

Jack could have lived his whole life like that. He was planning on it. But even at the best moments with Geoff, Jack always knew he was his second choice. 

_Can we sit down for a minute?_

Jack can do this. He will. 

*

Jack needs a shower, wants to get the laundry going as soon as possible. But then he checks his phone after pulling into the garage.

**Geoff** _I’m at your place. When will you be here?_

**Geoff** _I need you._

Oh shit. A shiver runs all the way over Jack’s skin. He runs his fingers through his hair, looks at himself in the rear view mirror (Does it show? Did Bitty leave marks?), rubs at his face. Jack doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to look like anymore.

Jack reluctantly takes the elevator up, turns the key in his lock quietly, as if that will put off the inevitable. 

Then he sees Geoff. 

He’s sitting on the sofa, leaning forward, hands tangled in his own hair, not looking up. He has his coat and tie off, the top buttons of his shirt undone. It’s disconcerting; Geoff doesn’t usually allow himself to look disheveled during the daylight hours. 

When Geoff looks up, his eyes are red and swollen. 

Jack’s hardly in his own body, he’s so scared. _What’s happened? Could he know? How could he know?_

Then Geoff says, “Babe, thank god you’re here,” rising from the sofa. Tension flows out of Jack’s body because, no, he doesn’t know. It’s not about him. It’s something else. 

Shit. It’s something else. 

“Geoff, what happened? What’s wrong?” 

Jack finds himself rushing across the room, heedless of where he’s come from, what he looks like or how he smells. 

Geoff doesn’t seem to care either. He falls into Jack, and Jack can feel him shaking. “Dorothy collapsed. During a meeting. Probably a heart attack. I just… I had to do CPR, Jack. Me and Carter. It was… oh god, I wanted you to be home.”

Jack wraps his arms around Geoff, holding him up. His mind is desperately trying to keep up.

“Ms. McCann? Oh no. Is… she…?”

Geoff tenses. “She’s in the hospital. But they don’t know. She’s my mentor, Jack. She’s... I don’t know...she’s…”

They’ve been together over a year, but Jack realizes he’s never seen Geoff actually falling apart before. 

“Sit down, G. I’m here. Let's just breathe,” Jack says, leading Geoff back to the sofa, his stomach like lead. _Can we sit down for a minute?_ But that’s so far away now. 

He lets Geoff settle in against him, Jack rubbing comfort into his shoulders and back, and his mind mutters, _when it’s right, Bits_. Jack wants to slap himself for even thinking it. 

*


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a week before Jack can come up for air again. 

Geoff spends hours a day between work and the hospital, and he asks Jack to go with him much of the time. Jack realizes, after the initial fear has passed that Dorothy McCann will not survive, that Geoff’s extreme reaction to her illness is only partially about caring for Ms. McCann. Dorothy is Geoff’s champion at work, and he eventually lets slip to Jack that if she’s gone, he’s not sure where he stands with Paul Culler, the other senior partner. He’s tense and worried and throws himself into work; he has to pick up several of Ms. McCann’s clients, and he puts in overtime just to be sure he’s proving himself. 

Jack doesn’t know what else to do but be supportive. If he stops long enough to think too hard, he knows he’ll fall apart. His mind plays, _Can we sit down for a minute?_ on repeat whenever he’s alone. He doesn’t call or text Bitty, but he _thinks_ about doing it all day.

By the end of the week, every doctor agrees that Dorothy McCann is going to make a full recovery. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, babe,” Geoff says after getting off the phone with Dorothy’s husband. They’re at Geoff’s condo, waiting for dinner delivery. “She’s going home tonight. We don’t need to worry anymore.”

“That’s great news.”

“Oh fuck, it really is.” 

Geoff settles in next to Jack on the sofa, arm draped around Jack’s shoulders. He sighs. “Babe, thank you. I loved having you around so much all week, being so supportive. And it got me thinking…”

Geoff turns to look Jack in the eye. Jack’s stomach lurches. 

“I’m ready to move in together. Have one place, stop all this back and forth. What do you think? It’ll make everything so much easier: wedding planning, dealing with the media, travel… regular fucks...” Geoff leans in and kisses Jack, wet and dirty, on the skin below his ear. 

Jack knows he’s not a good actor, that his face can’t possibly be hiding how little he wants that now.

“I don’t know,” he says, hoping to cover his initial reaction as just thoughtful doubt. “Which place would we keep?”

Geoff shrugs. “We can work out the details later, babe. As long as you’re on board.”

He gives Jack’s shoulders a quick rub and then hops back up without any further conversation, as if Jack had said yes.

Jack sits frozen on the sofa and thinks, _Fuck, Geoff. Can we sit down for a minute?_

*

That night, after Geoff has fallen asleep draped over Jack’s chest, Jack eases out from under him and checks his texts. Some possible interview dates from Alain, a note from his father. Nothing from Bitty. And there shouldn’t be. But still.

Jack lies awake for hours fumbling with his engagement ring, twisting it on his finger until the skin beneath is rubbed raw.

At midnight, he pulls his phone back out. 

**Jack** _You around?_

**Shitty** _Yup. What’s up?_

**Jack** _I need to talk to you._

**Shitty** _Phone? Text? You coming here? Me going there?_

**Jack** _Me coming there. In the morning._

**Shitty** _Well then, sir. I’ll tidy up the place._

*

Jack’s foot is tapping out a panicked rhythm as he waits on the porch for Shitty to let him in. 

Shitty throws the door open and holds out his arms. “Jackie, me brah! Bring it in, dude.” 

Jack needs a hug. He gratefully lets himself be pulled in.

“I’ve got coffee and pastries, and the urge to maybe form a book club or some shit, so we can do this more often?” Shitty says as they walk up the stairs to his apartment. Jack’s heart is hammering away. 

“Book club? Aren’t you swamped with reading for school?”

“Fuck law school. My book club would be entirely romance novels and spy thrillers. You in?” Shitty elbows Jack and then saunters off to the kitchen. 

He shouts back, “I’m getting the coffee.”

“Great.” Jack takes a lap of Shitty’s living room, shaking out his nerves. “Thanks for letting me come up.”

From the kitchen, clattering, and then, “No prob, amigo. So spill it. What’s up?”

Jack stops, sits down on Shitty’s gaudy sofa, and just says it. 

“I’ve been cheating on Geoff.”

A weight flies off his chest to say it out loud at last. 

It’s quiet for a minute and then Shitty appears around the corner from the kitchen, his eyes wide. 

“Holy shitballs, brah. Why?”

Jack pauses at that. He’s determined to tell Shitty the truth, get his honest opinion, even if it hurts. 

So he says, “With Bitty,” as if that answers the question. Because it does.

Shitty appears to be be thinking hard as he pads back over to the sofa, two mugs in hand, and settles next to Jack, his legs tucked under him. 

“Wait. You and _Bitty_ are fucking around?”

Jack nods, then shrugs and says, “Yeah. I wouldn’t call it fucking around though.”

“No?”

“No. It’s more serious than that.”

Shitty goes quiet, his face still and somber. He blinks at Jack a couple of times, puts the mugs down on the coffee table, and then turns his head and covers his mouth with his hands. 

“Shitty?”

When Shitty speaks, his voice is high and shaking. “Sorry. I’m having an inappropriate reaction over here. Gimme a minute.”

“I want your reaction. That’s why I’m telling you.”

“For reals?” Shitty asks from behind his hands. 

“Yes.”

Shitty lowers his hands slowly, his eyes bright and crinkled, his lips curled into an enormous grin. 

“Are you… laughing at me?” Jack asks.

“Fuck no! I’m goddamn giddy, brah.”

“What?”

“I mean, yeah, you’re an asshole, and stop cheating on your fiancé, ya goob. But,” Shitty reaches over and pulls Jack into a headlock, “two of my favorite people in the world are figuring their shit the fuck out? I’ve been waiting for literal years, you cocksuckers! Thank god!” 

Jack can feel Shitty raining kisses down all over his hair. 

“Shitty, stop. This is a mess.”

“Fuck right it is. A beautiful goddamn mess.”

Shitty releases Jack, and Jack takes a minute to settle his ruffled hair. Shitty is still beaming at him. 

“I don’t know what to do, Shits.”

Shitty gives him a look. “Um, not to be obvious, but I have a feeling you know exactly what the fuck to do, dude.”

Jack sighs. Shitty.

“You do know, right?” Shitty says, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

Jack nods. He knows. 

“And brah, I will be there for you, whatever happens.”

Jack doesn’t deserve Shitty. Not even a little bit.

“I’m getting interviewed on national television in a week.”

“Then you need to sort your shit out soon,” Shitty says. “Wanna talk it through?”

“Yeah, maybe?”

“Okay, brah. Start talkin’.”

*

Back in Providence, later, after a long morning with Shitty, a nervous drive home, and a stressful meeting with Georgia about the current media response (mixed overall, but better than expected), Jack sends a text. 

**Jack** _I need to see you._

**Bittle** _I need to see you too._

Bitty sends an address. 

*

The pre-season is on the horizon: meetings and mini-camps and rookies arriving in town. But Bitty manages to suggest a time when Geoff is at work and no one at the Falc’s organization needs him for a few hours. 

The address Bitty sends turns out to be a chain hotel not too far from Foxboro. 

Jack has on his most anonymous clothing, dark glasses, and a Red Sox cap (Shitty’s, left at Jack’s place a while back), but he still looks around to be sure no one is eyeing him closely as he sits in his SUV out in the parking lot.

**Jack** _I’m here._

**Bittle** _415_

Jack’s skin feels icy. He’s been able to avoid labeling whatever is happening with Bitty, but right now, holding a clandestine hotel room number in his hand, he has a hard time avoiding thinking the word _affair_. 

He trots in through the lobby, heart hammering, trying to look like he knows where he’s going. He manages to be alone in the elevator, and doesn’t meet anyone in the fourth floor hallway.

He knocks quietly at room 415. 

Bitty opens the door instantly, like he was waiting, right on the other side. Jack hasn’t seen or talked to him for a week, and it’s suddenly painful to Jack how trapped and pent up he has been feeling. Bitty’s bright eyes meet his and his hand reaches out. Jack grabs on. 

“Hey, come in!” Bitty says, smiling, casual. Like this is completely normal.

Jack can’t stop his own grin. “Hey, yourself.”

But once the door is shut behind Jack, Bitty throws himself against Jack’s chest, wraps his arms around his waist and squeezes tight. Jack presses his face into Bitty’s hair and lets his arms settle around Bitty’s shoulders. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know what else to do,” Bitty says, right into Jack's shirt. 

“So you got us a hotel room?” Jack says, still smiling. 

“It sounds so sordid when you say it like that,” Bitty says.

“Well…” Jack pulls back a little so that he can see Bitty’s face, leans in to kiss him hello. Bitty cranes up onto his toes and meets Jack halfway. 

After several heated seconds, Bitty pulls back and says, “Fine. Yes, but it’s not just that.”

But Jack doesn’t want to stop. It’s been a hell of a week and he’s already in so deep. He leans in and starts kissing along Bitty’s throat. Bitty huffs out a little half-protest and then pulls Jack closer. 

“Jack.” 

“I missed you.” Right into the soft skin along Bitty’s collar bone.

“Don’t be silly, it's only been a few days.” Jack can feel Bitty’s fingers working their way along the ticklish skin at his sides. 

“I don’t just mean the last few days, Bits.” 

Bitty stills against him, then squeezes Jack even tighter, so his ribs get a pleasant ache. 

“Well then fine, take me to bed, you ridiculous man,” Bitty says, letting go and then looping his arms behind Jack’s neck so that Jack can hoist him up and Bitty can wrap his legs around him, and they don’t have to stop kissing while Jack stumbles them over to the nearest bed. 

*

Sex with Bitty is so much fun. Jack had almost forgotten. 

When he’s in a playful mood (and Bitty is today, somehow, even with all of the crap hanging over them; Jack is so thankful), he likes trying goofy positions, and tickling, and driving Jack mad with his teasing. 

And the talking, damn. Jack has forgotten how much Bitty loves to talk, a stream of consciousness monologue of feelings, random storytelling, and laughter, even when he’s got two fingers in Jack’s ass, his dick in Jack’s mouth, and is about to come. 

Jack tries not to think about Geoff at all, but he finds himself wishing the hotel room had a few more mirrors around, because Jack’s never felt this desired in his life, and he kind of wants to see what it looks like. 

*

“Bits, I need to clarify something.”

Snuggled together, leaned up against the headboard, after, Jack finally feels brave enough.

Bitty pulls back to look at him. “Yeah?”

Jack takes a deep breath and says, “I’m planning to end my engagement so that I can be with you.” 

Bitty’s eyes get huge and his fingers tighten into Jack’s skin. 

“I think you know that, Bits, but I realize I haven’t said it out loud. And I want to be clear.”

“Jack…”

“But Bitty,” Jack goes on. He has to say it all. “You are moving to New York in a few weeks, to a new life, all these new people. And some of them will be… beautiful and single, and I just…” He’d had all of the words planned, back at Shitty’s, but he fumbles it now. “...I just ...I’m so ...I can’t lose you again. So.”

Jack can’t finish his sentence.

Bitty’s expression has transformed from sweetly listening to terrified. “So?”

“So, I want this to be forever. With you. But I’m…” Jack takes another breath to center himself. 

Bitty adjusts himself around so that he’s straddling Jack’s thighs, with his knees tucked in on either side. Jack lets his hands come to rest on Bitty’s hips, while Bitty’s fingers start rubbing a soothing path on Jack’s chest. 

Bitty’s brows are pulled together tight, and he stares at Jack like he’s willing him to understand. “Jack, honey. I’m not goin’ to New York looking for someone else. I _looked_ , sweetheart, and I’m glad I did, because it did not take me long to realize that I am the single luckiest man in the world to be with you. Jack, I want this to be forever, too. You don’t need to doubt that.”

Jack can hear the words, believes them, but the ache is still there, the fear.

“Bits. You blindsided me. Back then. And I’m… so...” Jack’s throat closes up and he can’t get the words to come.

Bitty’s shoulders drop and his expression softens into understanding. 

“Oh Jack, oh gosh,” Bitty whispers, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek, the nose. “Jack, oh lord, I’m so sorry, honey.” 

Bitty leans in and wraps himself around Jack, and the feel of Bitty’s skin pressed against his own is so intensely right. It feels like forever. 

Bitty sniffles a little, wipes a tear from his eye as he sits back, looks Jack straight in the eyes. 

“I am so sorry I hurt you, Jack. But you gotta know, sweetheart, that I don’t regret that we spent time apart, and I never will. If that’s gonna be a problem between us, we gotta work that shit out.”

Jack almost laughs a little. God, he loves Eric Bittle. “No, Bits. I just need to know that you’re in it with me, this time. For sure.”

“Jack, I am.” Hands on chest, knees gripping tight.

“I’m about to blow my life apart for you, Bits.”

“Jack,” Bitty’s tone is so gentle. “Honey, I sure hope you’re actually about to blow your life apart for _you_.”

Jack closes his eyes and sinks into Bitty’s words. God. Then he smiles. “Have you been going to therapy?” 

Bitty laughs through his own tears. “Oh hell yes, sweet pea.” 

Jack laughs right back, says, “You’re right. For me,” and then pulls Bitty down into a long, deep kiss. Then he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against Bitty’s and corrects himself. 

“No. For us.”

*

Jack assumes he’ll never again meet with a lover in an anonymous hotel for an afternoon, but if he ever does, he’ll remember this: the ‘getting dressed again’ part is awkward, no matter how much you love the person who’s tugging on their guilty skivvies next to you. 

Bitty is sitting in the hotel chair, tying his shoe, when he says, “Jack, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Huh?” Jack looks up from where he’s pulling on his fleece. 

“It’s why I wanted to see you. I mean… the other reason I wanted to see you.” Bitty meets his eyes, and Jack can’t help but grin. “I found something.”

Jack sits down on the edge of the bed and Bitty slides in next to him. Their hips and shoulders press together, casually, easily, and Jack can’t get over the fact that he gets this now. Hopefully forever. 

Bitty has his phone. “It’s probably nothing, sweetheart, but…” His voice gets a little shaky. “I found a photo.”

Jack’s breath catches. “What do you mean?”

“Here. Look.” 

Bitty pulls up a collection of photos, all of the beach on the Cape where they’d walked. Jack recognizes it right away. Oh god.

“I went looking for it, Jack. I don’t think anyone else will find it. This is just some random person’s Flickr, and I knew to search for that date and that beach. But.” 

Bitty hands him the phone, then leans against his shoulder to look as well. 

Jack stares. Zooms in. His memory of that day is that he and Bitty had walked with about ten feet of space between them at all times, careful as can be, but the picture proves how selective his own memory can be. The two of them are right in the center of the frame, clear as day, smiling at each other in a way that makes Jack’s heart hurt. Jack’s arm is outstretched and Bitty is grabbing on, in mid-leap, running away from a little wave coming in at his feet. 

Jack can’t imagine anyone looking at this picture and thinking anything other than this is a portrait of two people in love.

“Shit.”

“I know.”

“It’s a really nice picture.”

Bitty laughs a little, and they both stare down at the screen. “Yeah. It is.”

Jack hands the phone back to Bitty. “I guess I’m out of time.” 

“I wish I could help you with this part, honey,” Bitty says, his hand rubbing soft circles on Jack’s back. “I’ll be there, when you need me.”

Jack let’s his hand drift up to cup Bitty’s cheek and he kisses him once more. 

“I know you will.”

*

Geoff gets home at a normal hour. No long client meetings, no big presentations looming, no need to go to the hospital. 

Jack is waiting at his place. No more excuses. He’s steeled up and ready.

“Hey, babe!” Geoff shouts as he dumps his keys and wallet, and plops down his briefcase by the front door. 

“Hey,” Jack manages. He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa, elbows on knees, hands clasped, and looks at Geoff. Beautiful, driven, high-powered Geoff, who’s been so busy being the guy who’s engaged to Jack Zimmermann that he hasn’t even noticed Jack slipping away from him.

He feels like he might throw up. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

Geoff is flipping through his mail. “Shit. I want to. I have to run out for a bit though.”

“Huh?”

“Your mom sent me the name of this great florist. He’s impossible to book but he said he could meet with me tonight.” Geoff looks at his watch. “Oh shit, in fifteen minutes.”

“For the wedding?” 

Geoff gives him a withering look. “Yes, babe. For the wedding.”

“Could you reschedule?” Jack’s stomach is churning. “I really need to talk to you.”

“I don't know. I think if I piss this guy off, we’ll lose him.” 

Geoff has ripped open a bill and is scanning it. He’s hardly looked at Jack. 

“We don’t need flowers, Geoff.”

“Uh, yes we do. Jack, this wedding is actually going to be an event, with media interest, and three photographers. You want plain white tablecloths and no flowers?”

“We don’t need flowers.”

“Now you have a fucking opinion? Fine. No flowers. What do you want instead?”

“Geoff, I’m not going to marry you.”

The words are out before Jack can think.

Geoff stops at last, frozen, then slowly turns to look at Jack. Jack’s heart is hammering, but he holds himself steady.

Then Geoff’s face relaxes. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and laughs. “Shit, babe. You got me. Damn, don’t do that!” 

He goes back to scanning the mail.

Jack shakes his head. “I’m not kidding, Geoff.”

Geoff’s chuckling dies away. 

“Will you sit down now?”

Geoff is still standing there, the open mail in his hand. He stares blankly at Jack, and it hurts, because Jack remembers the feeling like it was yesterday. The falling.

“I made a mistake, Geoff. I said yes when I wasn’t ready.” Jack has practiced this part, with Shitty, several times. “And I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t think of a worse thing to do to someone than marry them when you don’t want to.”

“You’re not kidding.”

“No.”

“Is this… cold feet?”

Jack shakes his head. “No.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just… I can’t go through with it. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but…”

Jack can see the ripple of realization travel through Geoff’s body. His shoulders tense up and his face gets flushed. Without further warning, he throws the mail he's holding. The papers and envelopes spin and flutter across the room. Jack flinches.

“No.” Geoff takes a step forward and points right into Jack’s face. “You don’t get to do this to me, Jack.”

“I’m sorry, Geoff.”

“No, no, no, no,” Geoff says, starting to pace, his hands gripped into fists. “Fuck you, Jack. No. You can’t. We are out to everyone. You are going to be on the cover of _Sports Illustrated_ because of me.”

“No,” Jack says, still trying to stay calm and steady on the sofa. “I’m going to be on the cover of _Sports Illustrated_ because of me.”

Geoff stops and stares at Jack, his eyes bright and frightening. “Get out.”

Jack stands up. He wants to do something, to make this more of an ending. But then Geoff says, “Out,” again, his voice like a knife. 

Jack goes.

*

On the drive home, Jack is blank, empty. 

It all hits him when he’s finally back in his own space. A choking, overwhelming sense of failure, like he’s managed to do so many things wrong it's not even worth trying to make an accounting anymore. His entire body feels like lead.

He hasn’t needed to for a long time, but he goes into the bathroom and digs out his Lorazepam and takes one and then runs through some positive self-talk, planning to settle onto the sofa to let the meds kick in. 

He doesn’t call Bitty. Not yet. He does fill up a big glass of water, and uses one of his pucks to rest it on. Which feels good.

He gets a text after a few more minutes.

**Geoff** _I’m drawing up papers. You don’t get to fuck me over on this. Expect a courier in a few hours._

Jack’s thankful he’s already sitting, already working his breathing. 

He knows he has a lot of people in his corner, that he only needs to pick up the phone and someone will be at his side to support him. 

But Jack doesn’t, not yet. He wants to feel it for a little while, how much he’s hurt Geoffrey Ramirez. Someone he truly cares about. He curls up around a sofa cushion and let's the slow drag of sadness and medication pull him into sleep.

*

A courier knocks on Jack’s door after dark. 

After his nap, Jack had managed to choke down a few slices of turkey and some water. He knows he should call someone, but he’s still not ready.

The man at the door has Jack sign for an envelope. Jack can only imagine that Geoff had rushed into the office and started drafting whatever is inside. 

They aren’t married, so Jack is fairly certain that Geoff does not actually have any legal legs to stand on if he’s demanding things from Jack. (What things? The ring? Money? God, Jack doesn’t want it to end that ugly.) But he can certainly make Jack’s life hell if he wants to. 

Jack thinks about that photo that Bitty showed him, and hopes with all of his heart that no one ever finds it.

Eventually, he sits down at the table with the envelope. He stares at it for a while and then just rips it open. 

The document inside is written in dense legal language. Jack reads and rereads it until he thinks he gets it. 

The first few paragraphs are Geoff trying to define their relationship in the most clinical of terms: the number of months together, the percentage of time spent at each other’s homes, trips taken together, items purchased as a couple. It’s oddly nostalgic for Jack to read this cataloging of their life together. 

The final few paragraphs outline Geoff’s demands. There’s only one or two that feel unreasonable. It’s not a disaster, not yet. But Jack almost wants to cry imagining Geoff writing up this dispassionate dissection of who they were to each other.

Jack leaves the papers on the table and grabs his phone.

**Jack** _Don’t think we should talk tonight. But I did it._

He hits send, and then turns on ESPN, hoping to just think about something else for a few hours. His text alert sounds after a few minutes.

**Bittle** _You okay?_

**Jack** _Getting there._

**Bittle** _Wish I could bring you a pie._

**Jack** _Pear?_

**Bittle** _I was thinking apple, but pear if you insist._

**Bittle** _When you’re ready, honey._

Jack’s heart is in his throat as he types.

**Jack** _I’ll let you know._

*

The next morning, Jack wakes up early. It’s that part of the late summer where the days suddenly start feeling shorter, and thin dawn light is all that is filtering in through his shades. 

But it’s a new day. 

He pulls on his running clothes and then starts a group text before thinking too hard. 

**Jack** _Can you both come down? I really need you._

**Papa** _Of course. What’s going on?_

**Maman** _What’s wrong, honey?_

**Jack** _I wanted to tell you in person. But texting is easier. Don’t worry. It’s good._

**Jack** _Mostly._

**Jack** _I’m not getting married anymore. My choice._

**Jack** _But I need help. Dealing with it._

**Papa** _You mother is already putting clothes in a bag, Jack._

**Jack** _Thanks, Papa. Tell her I’m okay?_

**Papa** _We’ll be there this evening._

*


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days are a blur for Jack. 

His parents arrive and take over, and for once he’s completely fine with that. His dad arranges a meeting with a new lawyer to be sure Jack is protected, and with the Falcs to start planning a media strategy. Jack goes to these meetings on autopilot, nodding and trying to look innocent, like there’s not another enormous shoe that could drop at any moment. 

He doesn’t contact Bitty, and Bitty doesn’t contact him.

The third night, Jack finally breaks down with his mother while they are putting away groceries. He looks down at a box of butter cubes and his body floods with heat, and he can’t stop himself. He tells her everything, slumped down against the cabinets on the cold ceramic tile.

“I just need to get out of this without dragging Bitty into it. I don’t care what happens to me, but this can’t turn into a circus.”

His mother’s hand is gently combing through his hair. 

“Can we do that?”

Alicia’s hand stops its gentle motion and she lifts her head. “Bobby? Come here?”

It’s surreal for Jack to listen to his mother explain his affair with Bitty to his father while Jack sits there trying to stop himself from crying again. 

It’s quiet, and they are all circled up on the floor of the kitchen. Finally, his father says, “Jack, you know we love Eric so much. We’ve got this.” 

His mother’s eyes are shining and wet and they pull him together into a huge, messy hug. 

The three of them, without any lawyers or PR specialists, draft a short letter to Geoff. Jack writes out the final version in his own handwriting. 

_Geoff,_

_I got your requests and if I’m reading them right you primarily want two things. One, you want to be the one to publicly end things with me. That’s fine. Please just warn me before you do it so I can be prepared with a statement as well. I have no intention of saying anything negative about you, ever, and I hope you’ll be willing to do the same about me. Two, you don’t want me to publicly date anyone else for at least a year. I agree to that as well._

_Of course I’ll return any of your personal belongings that I still have. I’ve enclosed the ring you gave me with this letter. If there are any outstanding expenses due to wedding planning, please send me the bills._

_I’m not sending this to you as a legal document or a binding contract. I’m sending you this as a person. I hope you might consider just accepting this promise in the spirit it was meant. I never wanted to hurt you._

_Jack_

“You’re sure this will be alright with Eric?” Alicia asks as Jack folds up the letter and drops his ring into the envelope. 

“I don’t think Bits will care about our relationship being public, so long as it doesn’t have to be secret. And there’s no way I’m keeping him secret from you or our friends or the team.” Jack sighs. “Actually, it will be a relief to be a little less public for a while.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Not since I talked to Geoff. It seemed… wrong.”

“Maybe you should?”

Jack closes his eyes and shudders at how much he wants to see Bitty, to hold him. 

“After I hear back from Geoff,” he says.

Alicia nods and gives Jack another hug.

*

Bob takes the letter over to Geoff’s place himself. They don’t want to trust the delivery to anyone else. Jack guesses that his father might have a word with Geoff as well, but he prefers not to even think about that. 

After Bob’s been gone for about forty minutes, Jack gets a text.

**Geoff** _I’m talking to the sports reporter at WJAR tomorrow. I just want this over with._

Jack’s heart accelerates. 

**Jack** _Thanks for the warning._

There’s no further response. 

When Bob gets back to the apartment, he says, “I don't think he’s going to give you any trouble, Jack.”

“How is he?” Jack almost doesn’t want to know. 

Bob shrugs. “I don't know. All I saw was a proud man trying to hold it together in front of his ex’s father.”

Jack sighs heavily, and Bob rests his hand on Jack’s folded arms. 

“You should go see Eric, Jack. Give yourself a break from all of this.”

Jack doesn’t wait to be told again.

*

When Bitty opens the door, Jack practically falls through it and into Bitty’s arms. 

“Hi, honey,” Bitty says, while his arms wrap around so tight and his fingers trace a slow pattern on Jack’s back.

“Hey, bud,” Jack whispers back. 

It’s not like the years between are gone. Not at all. But the path ahead is clear again, and everything feels new. 

They stand in the entryway for a long time. 

“Your pear pie is almost out of the oven, sweet pea.”

When Jack looks incredulous, Bitty winks. 

“Blame your mama. She sent me a text that you were on your way.”

“You still had her number in your phone?”

“Yessir. And she still had mine.” Bitty pulls back a little, lifts his eyebrows, and then plants a smacking kiss right on Jack’s mouth. 

“So everyone knew that it was only temporary?” Jack says.

“Everyone but you, honey,” Bitty replies, with a hint of sass.

Jack doesn’t let that stand. He kisses Bitty right back, and then wrangles him over his shoulder and into the bedroom, Bitty laughing the entire time.

*

They eat pie, tucked together on Bitty’s sofa. The small living room is full of half packed cardboard boxes for Bitty’s move to New York. Jack almost trips every time he tries to get up, so he decides to stop trying. 

“Have you found a place yet?” Jack asks, his mouth full.

“Lord, no. Renting in New York City is a crystal mystery, sweetheart.”

Jack takes another bite, and thinks. 

*

[transcript, Jack Zimmermann interview, 05:03:25 to 06:46:12]

Interviewer: Jack, I have to ask. A news report in Providence this week stated that your publicly announced engagement to your long-time boyfriend has been called off? Is this true?

Jack Zimmermann: Yes. That’s true.

Interviewer: What happened?

Jack Zimmermann: Things just didn’t work out between us. He called it off. 

Interviewer: Your former fiancé, Geoff Ramirez, hinted at your emotional coldness and your over-commitment to hockey. Any comment?

Jack Zimmermann: Geoff’s a great guy. He’s going to be a great partner to someone out there. It just turns out not to be me.

Interviewer: Do you regret making your relationship public?

Jack Zimmermann: No. If you could see the letters I’m getting from people all over the world who thank me for coming out. I don’t regret it. 

Interviewer: I hear that you and Alphonse Benham are doing some personal appearances together?

Jack Zimmermann: Yeah, Al’s got a great perspective and has a lot to bring to the sport. We’re doing a video spot together, and I hope it gets more kids to think that hockey is a sport for them, that anyone can play.

Interviewer: That’s a lot to deal with just weeks before the start of the season. Is this a distraction for you?

Jack Zimmermann: No. Being on the ice is where I completely focus on the game and how I can contribute. My team knows who I am. I can’t wait for the season to get started. 

Interviewer: Speaking of the season, let’s run down some of your thoughts about your upcoming opponents…

*

Jack’s schedule ramps up: camp, daily training, and the start of pre-season. His days off evaporate.

At the same time, Bitty has his last days of pulling espresso shots in Boston and starts to send Jack endless photos of his apartment as it gets completely packed up. Even though he’ll have to work, Jack invites Bitty to take the train down to spend a couple of days together. 

It’s eerie, at first, to have Bitty back in Providence. After the initial excitement of his arrival, he wanders Jack’s apartment, commenting on little things that have changed or asking about new art or old furniture. He sprawls across the ridiculously expensive sheets that Geoff had picked out several months ago, full of chirpy commentary about how Jack’s tastes have changed.

“I didn’t just sit in a time warp while we were apart, Bits,” Jack says, standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

“I know it, sweetheart.”

Jack’s hands are shaking a little. “Maybe we should think about this like dating again. Get to know each other? How we are now, I mean. Not how we knew each other then?”

It doesn't come out quite right, but Jack feels lighter having said it. 

Bitty looks at him thoughtfully, his head cocked to one side. “I think that sounds real good, Jack Zimmermann.”

Jack lets out a long breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bitty is still laid out across the bed, touching the soft sheets. 

“So you should know that Geoff picked out those sheets,” Jack says in a rush. “He picked out a lot of the things you’ve noticed.”

“Oh?” Bitty pulls himself up and sits cross-legged on the bed. 

“I don’t know why I told you that.”

“Is it hard? Having me here?” Bitty asks, with a little worried frown.

Jack shakes his head, trying to find the words. “No. Not hard. Great. So great. But…”

Bitty doesn’t say anything, just gets up, walks across the room, and wraps Jack up in a huge hug. Jack doesn’t let go for a long time.

*

The next morning, Jack wakes up with Bitty still deep asleep beside him, snoring gently, a small wet spot of drool by his chin, and he knows, with absolute certainty, that this is all he ever wants, his whole life. The odd moodiness of the day before feels very far away.

Once they are out of bed, Bitty offers to make pancakes. He simply opens the correct cupboard where the stand mixer is still waiting, exactly where he last put it away, three years previous. As Jack watches, sipping his coffee at the counter, Bitty bops around the kitchen, opening drawers and turning on burners and pulling out a griddle that Jack didn’t even remember he owned. 

Geoff had changed how some things look on the surface, Jack thinks, but Bitty’s presence in his life is bone deep. 

He swallows hard, suddenly sure. “Next week I have my last two days off in a row for a long time.”

Bitty is doing a final whisk of the batter, cradling the bowl in one arm. “Oh lord, I know it, honey.” 

Jack huffs out a little laugh. “So, I was thinking we could go down to New York together then. Look at some places.”

Bitty’s eyes get wide. “What do you mean.”

Jack clears his throat. He’s been thinking about this for weeks, if he’s honest. 

“Well, I’m going to be down there a lot to visit, so it makes sense for me to get a place. And I thought, if I get a place, maybe _we_ should just get a place. And you could live there most of the time. And I’ll live there occasionally. When I can.”

Bitty has stopped whisking. 

“Unless you don’t want to. I was going to make appointments to see a few places in Brooklyn. I’ve… euh… looked for apartments that are a little like your place in Boston, because that was so great, but maybe that’s not what you want anymore, so...” Jack can hear himself babbling into Bitty’s silence. 

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you talking about buying an apartment in Brooklyn for me to live in while I am in school?”

Jack thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “It would be for me, too.”

Bitty stares at him. There’s a little streak of flour across his cheek and jaw. 

“I’m pretty dang sure I don’t deserve you, Jack Zimmermann,” he says.

*

They pick a cozy little one-bedroom in Cobble Hill. It’s in an older building, but it has a lot of character and a remodeled kitchen. Bitty’s eyes positively shine when they walk into it the first time. There’s a bar, coffee shop, and bodega on the same block. The F train is a few blocks away.

Jack’s already on the road when Bitty moves, helped by Shitty, Lardo, Ronnie, and a couple of his other former roommates, all of whom Jack is looking forward to getting to know soon. They send him a constant stream of goofy photos of the progress with the rental truck, with getting everything up to the fourth floor, of the late night celebratory beers.

Most of Jack’s stuff will stay in Providence, obviously, but Bitty texts him a selfie while he’s unpacking Jack’s little box of clothes, toiletries, some of his photographs and hockey puck coasters. 

**Bittle** _You’re here too, honey._

The Falcs lose in Calgary that night, but Jack doesn’t even mind. 

*

The Cape Cod photo surfaces in November.

Though George and Alain both try, neither of them can ever figure out the source. Luckily, whoever spread the picture had removed any evidence of the date or location it was taken, so for all anyone knows, the picture is brand new. The PR experts all advise Jack to ignore it. 

When it appears as a tiny thumbnail on a couple of tabloids, with titles like “Zimmermann’s New Boy Toy,” it sparks only a minor rumble in a very small group of fans. 

Jack is in D.C. when he hears about it from George. He texts Bitty.

**Jack** _You’re on the corner of the cover of Us. Very small. I don’t think anyone knows it’s you._

**Bittle** _I saw. You may be surprised to learn that I read Us almost every week. Ahem._

**Jack** _You okay?_

**Bittle** _Yeah. I’ll try not think about what Mama and Coach and the rest of Madison, Georgia might think._

**Jack** _I’ll call you later, bud. George and Alain both think that this will pass without any issue. The reporter didn’t even bother to do the simplest research to figure out who you are. No one really cares._

**Bittle** _Oddly comforting._

**Jack** _Love you._

*

The next day, though, when he returns to Providence, Jack gets a text. 

**Geoff** _Meet me at the whiskey bar. 7:00_

**Jack** _Sure._

Jack is restless for the rest of the day. He goes for a long run, but he still can’t settle.

**Jack** _Geoff wants to see me._

**Shitty** _Need me to gear up and come down? I can look like a lawyer and shit._

**Jack** _Thanks. I’m good._

**Shitty** _The offer stands._

*

Jack gets to the bar early and secures a quiet table in the back corner. 

Geoff walks in after a few minutes. He stops to talk to one of the servers, so Jack has a few moments to really take him in before Geoff comes over. He looks good: sharp suit, hair short and very curly on top, that strong jaw. It’s been over four months. 

If they’d stayed together, they would be married now. 

Jack inhales and then blows the air out through his nose. He can do this.

Geoff scans the room until he catches sight of Jack, then strolls over, his nonchalance studied, one hand in his suit pocket. 

“Jack.” 

Geoff pulls out the chair across from Jack, and has a seat.

“Hey.”

It’s quiet at the table. Geoff isn’t looking at him.

“So, who’s the guy?”

“Huh?”

“In the picture?”

Jack knew this was about the photo, but he’d thought there might be a little more conversation first. He licks his dry lips. He’d decided earlier that he’s just going to tell the truth. “It’s my old boyfriend, Eric. I’m seeing him again.”

Geoff looks surprised. “Eric? The guy from college?”

Jack nods.

“Didn’t he dump your ass?” 

Geoff’s tone is all wrong, so unlike himself. It makes Jack’s chest hurt.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Geoff looks awkwardly away from their table. “Realized the error of his ways?”

Jack sips his water and makes a non-committal sound in reply. He places his water firmly back down on the table and takes a deep breath, then pulls his chair in closer. 

In the strongest voice he can muster, he says, “Geoff, I have no intention of breaking our agreement. I didn’t want that picture to come out, and I’m not going to make a statement about it. I do not want this to be public.”

Jack watches the facade fall off of Geoff; his shoulders drop, jaw relaxes, arms uncross. He finally looks at Jack, right in the eyes. “It’s fine, Jack. It doesn’t matter.” Geoff sits back in his chair, lets his suit jacket fall open. “I was hoping you’d date women for a while. I thought that would be easier.”

“Sorry,” Jack says.

Geoff shakes his head. “I’m fine, Jack.” The he smiles for a moment, that little lopsided grin. “You were great advertising.”

Jack wonders for a moment, then asks, “What do you mean?”

“Means I’m getting laid a lot.”

Jack huffs out a laugh at that. “Oh. You’re… welcome?” 

Geoff snorts, and then it’s quiet again for a moment.

“I figured it out, you know,” Geoff says, folding his arms on the table and leaning in towards Jack. “Took me a long time, but I finally did.”

“What?”

“You never said it.”

Jack’s heart starts to race a bit. “Said what?”

“‘I love you.’ You never said it. And I never noticed.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say, because that’s true.

Geoff goes on. “When I figured that out...” he shrugs, “...I stopped being so mad at you.”

“Oh.”

The candlelight flickers across Geoff’s face, cool and serious. Jack isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks he might be forgiven, at least a little.

The server arrives at that moment, shoving in through whatever thick atmosphere is hovering around the two of them. 

“Here’s your flight, sir.”

The man sets down the wooden tray of small glasses right in front of Jack. Whiskey. 

Jack starts to protest, but Geoff says, “Thank you so much,” and nods the server away. Then he raises his eyebrows at Jack.

“Give me this one, Jack. For old times’ sake? I asked for their most… oaky selections.”

Geoff leans his chin on his hand, brows still raised, his big class ring glinting in the candlelight.

Jack knows when he’s been challenged. He inhales deep and grabs a glass. 

“Alright,” Jack says, eyeing the amber liquid suspiciously. “I’ll try. But I’m not sticking my nose in.”

Geoff swirls his own glass and gives Jack a sidelong look. “Yeah. That’s what he said,” he mutters.

Jack bites his lip and raises his glass. “Old times,” he says. 

“Old times.” 

The whiskey tastes just as bad, but Jack swallows it down.

*

In March, Jack requests a healthy scratch so he can attend the friends and family screening of the first short films made by Bitty’s cohort. 

He’d lived for the daily text storm from Bitty, especially during long roadies, experiencing life vicariously as a film student in New York: the long hours, weird tasks ( _I need to secure a llama farm for Bella’s project. Llamas, Jack._ ), random celebrity encounters, endless screenings. But Bitty had kept the script of his own film to himself, telling Jack he wanted him to be able to see it for the first time without a lot of preconceptions. 

Jack only had hints (Bitty wondering if he can find a full set of football pads, filming at 3 a.m. in their neighbors’ kitchen), enough to guess this one might be slightly autobiographical.

Jack makes it to the apartment in the early afternoon. They haven’t seen each other in two weeks, and Bitty literally jumps Jack at the door. They only make it to the living room floor before they are both naked and all over each other, sloppy and perfect.

Jack takes a post-coital moment, sprawled on the floor with Bitty pressed up against him, to be thankful for this slow-paced, easy getting back together. The distance and schedules are tough, but every time they see each other, Jack feels the trust building back up for him. Bitty’s not leaving again. 

Jack almost believes it now.

“Nerves, bud?” Jack asks. 

Bitty props himself up on his elbows and gives Jack a slightly manic look. “So much, Jack. Good lord, I’m terrified.”

“Well, I’m going to love it,” Jack says, rubbing his hands down Bitty’s back.

“Gah, don’t say that!” Bitty hops up from the floor in a rush. “Come on, you. Let’s shower. I gotta get there.”

Jack lets himself be pulled up and manhandled into the shower. 

*

One of Bitty’s professors introduces the screening by explaining the assignment. Black and white, no dialogue, crew of three. Five minutes, and visually tell a story. 

Bitty is next to Jack, practically vibrating off the seat. Jack reaches over and grabs his hand, and Bitty squeezes tight. 

“No dialogue?” Jack whispers. “That must have been hard for you.”

Bitty knocks him in the shoulder. “No chirps, Zimmermann.” He doesn’t let go of Jack’s hand.

Bitty’s film screens fifth. 

Bitty had wisely cast an actor who doesn’t look too much like himself, but still. The images start with the actor coming through a door, teary-eyed. It’s not clear at first what exactly is wrong, but it’s obvious he’s exhausted and sad and overwhelmed. Short images start to be interwoven, like memories: a tiny boy in a football huddle, a teenager being knocked into lockers, a shockingly painful image of a man and woman sitting at a table, looking straight at the camera in judgment. A lingering kiss with another man, then shoving him away. 

Bitty’s grip on Jack’s hand is painful. 

As these images build, in gorgeous, intimate detail, the character starts to make a pie. 

Jack is enough of a photographer to appreciate every image: slicing apples and the softness of the flour, close-ups of strong arms rolling the dough. He’s hardly breathing, watching Bitty lay himself so bare on the screen.

It’s healing and calming to watch the actor slowly assemble the crust and filling, build the lattice, and let the memories fade away. 

At the very end, as the man puts the finishing touches on his creation, someone else’s hand, a large, man’s hand, snakes around his chest from the back. Someone is behind him, holding him close. It’s intimate and peaceful and loving.

The last shot is a close up of the baker’s face, dotted with flour, just a hint of a smile on his lips. 

The screen goes black. Jack is thankful the lights stay out during the applause. 

Bitty leans in close to Jack’s ear as the credits roll. “Oh lord, it’s too much, isn’t it?” he whispers. 

Jack isn’t sure if he can speak, so he shakes his head and turns just enough to press his lips against Bitty’s, right there in the middle of the screening room. 

“You’re never too much, Bits.”

Bitty pulls back and cups Jack’s face in his hands. Jack can see his wide eyes, even in the dim light. 

“Thank you for waiting for me to get here, sweetheart.”

Jack kisses him again.

The next film starts.

*


End file.
